».       -  '     .         * 

2f  *      4 

*         *    t 


- 


THE 


POETICAL  WORKS 

OP 

COLLINS, 
GllAY,   AND    BEATTIE. 

WITH    A    MEMOIR    OF    EACH. 


BOSTON: 
PHILLIPS,    SAMPSON,    AND    COMPANY, 

110  Washington  Street. 

1851. 


CONTENTS 

TO  COLLINS'S  POEMS. 

THE  Life  of  Collins 3 

ORIENTAL  ECLOGUES. 

Eclogun  I.  Selim;  or,  the  Shepherd's  Moral      .  9 

II.  Hassan;  or,  the  Camel-driver   .       .11 

III.  Abra;  or,  the  Georgian  Sultana       .  14 

IV.  Agib  and  Secander;  or,  the  Fugitives  lb 

ODES,  descriptive  and  allegorical. 

To  Pity ...  19 

To  Fear 20 

To  Simplicity 23 

On  the  Poetical  Character 24 

Written  in  the  Year  1746 27 

To  Mercy lb. 

To  Liberty 28 

To  a  Lady 33 

To  Evening 35 

To  Peace 36 

The  Manners.    An  Ode 37 

The  Passions.    An  Ode  for  Music       ...  40 

An  Epistle  to  Sir  Thomas  Hanmer,  on  his  Edition 

of  Shakspeare's  Works 43 

Dirge  in  Cymbeliue 48 

Ode  on  the  Death  of  Mr.  Thomson         ...  49 

Verses  written  on  a  Paper  containing  a  Piece  of 

Bride-cake 61 

An  Ode  on  the  popular  Superstition*  of  the  High- 
lands of  Scotland     .                      .       ...  63 


202G828 


CONTENTS 

TO  GRAY'S  POEMS. 

r»t* 

THE  Life  of  Gray .63 

ODES. 

I.  On  Spring 75 

II.  On  the  Death  of  a  favourite  Cat    ...     76 

III.  On  a  distant  Prospect  of  Eton  College         .    78 

IV.  To  Adversity 81 

V.  The  Progress  of  Poesy 83 

VI.  The  Bard •        .        .     88 

VII.  For  Music 93 

VI H.  The  Fatal  Sisters 97 

IX.  The  Descent  of  Odin 100 

X.  The  Triumphs  of  Owen          .        .       .       .103 

XI.  The  Death  of  Hoel 104 

Sonnet  on  the  Death  of  Mr.  West    ....  105 
EPITAPHS. 

I.  Oil  Mrs.  Clarke 106 

II.  On  Sir  William  Williams    .        .        .        .    ib. 
Elegy  written  in  a  Country  Church-yard         .       .  107 
Verses  on  the  Marriage  of  the  Prince  of  Wales     .  Ill 

Song 113 

Stanzas          114 

Tophet :  an  Epigram ib. 

Impromptu,  suggested  by  a  View  of  the  Seat  and 

Ruins  of  a  deceased  Nobleman,  at  Kingsgate, 

Kent ib. 

The  Candidate;  or,  the  Cambridge  Courtship       .  Ho 

Sketch  of  his  own  Character 117 

POEMS,  addressed  to,  and  in  Memory  of,  Mr.  Gray. 
Upon  his  Odes,  by  David  Garrick,  Esq.       .        .  118 
On  the  Backwardness  of  Spring    .       .        .       .119 

On  the  Death  of  Mr.  Gray 120 

Another;  by  the  Earl  of  Carlisle          .       .       .122 


CONTENTS.  v 

fart 

Lines  to  the  Memory  of  Mr.  Gray ;  by  Mr.  Mason  1 24 
Fragment  on  the  Death  of  Mr.  Gray  .         .  126 

S'antas  on  the  same  occasion ;  by  a  Lady          .  129 

The  Tears  of  Genius 139 

Epitaph  on  Mr.  Gray's  Monument  in  Westmin- 
ster Abbey  j  by  Mr.  Maton    .        .        .         ,)34 


CONTENTS 
TO  BEATTIE'S  POEMS. 

THE  Life  of  Beattie 137 

The  Minstrel,  Book  1 147 

Book  II 164 

POEMS. 

Ode  to  Peace  ;        .        .  .186 

The  Triumph  of  Melancholy     .        .        .        .190 
Epitaph  on  ••••••••••••      .        ,        .  197 

Epitaph 198 

Elegy         • 199 

Song 200 

Retirement         .......  201 

Elegy 204 

Ode  to  Hope 207 

Pygmso-Gerano-Machia  .        .        ..       .         .211 

The  Hares 217 

Epitaph 224 

Ode  on  Lord  H"'s  Birth-day     .        .        .        .    ib. 
To  the  Right  Hon.  Lady  Charlotte  Gordon        .  227 

The  Hermit 228 

On  the  Report  of  a  Monument  to  he  erected  in 
Westminster  Abbey,  to  the  Memory  of  a  late 

Author  (Churchill) 230 

The  Judgment  of  Paris 235 

The  Wolf  and  Shepherds  .  ...  252 


CONTLN1S. 

fit 

TRANSLATIONS. 

Anacrcon.     Ode  XXII 256 

The  Beginning  of  the  First  Book  of  Lucretius   .    ib. 

Horace,  Book  11.  Ode  X 256 

Book  III.  Ode  XIII 259 

Pastorals  of  Virgil.  1 261 

II 266 

III 270 

IV. 277 

V 281 

VI 286 

VII.        ...  .290 

Till.       .       .       .       i       ;294 

UL 300 

X        .       .       4       .       .304 


THia 


POETICAL    WORKS 


WILLIAM    COLLINS. 


LIFE  OF  COLLINS. 


WILLIAM  COLLINS  was  born  at  Chichester,  on.  the 
25th  of  December,  about  1720.  His  father  was  a  hatter, 
of  good  reputation.  He  was,  in  1733,  as  Dr.  Warton 
has  kindly  informed  me,  admitted  scholar  of  Win- 
chester College,  where  he  was  educated  by  Dr.  Burton. 
His  English  exercises  were  better  than  his  Latin. 

He  first  courted  the  notice  of  the  public  by  some 
verses  to  a  '  Lady  weeping,'  published  in  the  Gentle- 
man's Magazine. 

In  1740,  he  stood  first  in  the  list  of  the  Scholars  to 
oe  received  in  succession  at  New  College;  but  unhap- 
pily there  was  no  vacancy.  This  was  the  original  mis- 
fortune of  his  life.  He  became  a  Commoner  of  Queen's 
College,  probably  with  a  scanty  maintenance ;  but  was 
in  about  half  a  year  elected  a  demy  of  Magdalen  Col- 
lege, where  he  continued  till  he  had  taken  a  bachelor's 
degree,  and  then  suddenly  left  the  university  j  for  what 
reason  I  know  not  that  he  told. 

He  now  (about  1744)  came  to  London  a.  literary  ad- 
venturer, with  many  projects  in  his  head,  and  very 
little  money  in  his  pocket.  He  designed  many  works; 
but  his  great  fault  was  irresolution,  or  the  frequent 
calls  of  immediate  necessity  broke  his  schemes,  and 
suffered  him  to  pursue  no  settled  purpose.  A  man, 
doubtful  of  his  dinner,  or  trembling  at  a  creditor,  is 
not  much  disposed  to  abstracted  meditation,  or  remote 
nquiries.  He  published  proposals  for  a  History  of  the 
Revival  of  Learning ;  and  I  have  heard  him  speak  with 
great  kindness  of  Leo  the  Tenth,  and  with  keen  resent- 
ment of  his  tasteless  successor.  But  probably  not  a 
page  of  the  History  was  ever  written.  He  planned 
several  tragedies,  but  he  only  planned  them.  He  wrote, 
now. and  then,  odes  and  other  poems,  and  did  some- 
thing, however  little. 


4  I.IFi:  OF  COLLINS. 

About  this  time  I  fell  into  his  company.  His  ap- 
pearance was  decent  and  manly  ;  his  knowledge  con- 
siderable, his  views  extensive,  his  conversation  elegant, 
and  his  disposition  cheerful.  By  degrees  I  gained  his 
confidence  ;  and  one  day  was  admitted  to  him  when  he 
•was  immured  by  a  bailiff',  that  was  prowling  in  the 
street.  On  this  occasion  recourse  was  had  to  the  book- 
sellers, who,  on  the  credit  of  a  translation  of  Aristotle's 
Poetics,  which  he  engaged  to  write  with  a  large  com- 
mentary, advanced  as  much  money  as  enabled  him  to 
escape  into  the  country.  He  shewed  me  the.  guineas 
safe  in  his  hand.  Soon  afterward  his  ancle,  Mr.  Martin, 
a  lieutenant-colonel,  left  him  about  two  thousand 
pounds  ;  a  sum  which  Collins  could  scarcely  think  ex- 
haustible, and  which  he  did  not  live  to  exhaust.  The 
guineas  were  then  repaid,  and  the  translation  neg- 
lected. 

But  man  is  not  born  for  happiness :  Collins,  who, 
while  he  studied  to  live,  felt  no  evil  but  poverty,  no 
sooner  lived  to  study  than  his  life  was  assailed  by  more 
dreadful  calamities,  disease  and  insanity. 

Having  formerly  written  his  character,  while  perhaps 
it  was  yet  more  distinctly  impressed  upon  my  memory, 
1  shall  insert  it  here. 

'  iW  r.  Collins  was  a  man  of  extensive  literature,  and 
of  vigorous  faculties.  He  was  acquainted  not  only  with 
the  learned  tongues,  but  with  the  Italian,  French,  and 
SpanisJi  languages.  He. had  employed  his  mind  chiefly 
upon  works  of  fiction,  and  subjects  of  fancy,  and,  by 
indulging  some  peculiar  habits  of  thought,  was  cmi 
nently  delighted  with  those  flights  of  imagination  which 
pass  the  bounds  of  nature,  and  to  which  the  mind  is  re- 
conciled only  by  a  passive  acquiescence  in  popular  tra- 
ditions. He  loved  fairies,  genii,  giants,  and  monsters  j 
he  delighted  to  rove  through  the  meanders  of  enchant- 
ment, to  gaze  on  the  magnificence  of  golden  palaces, 
to  repose  by  the  waterfalls  of  Elysian  gardens. 

'This  was,  however,  the  character  rather  of  his  in- 
clination than  his  genius;  the  grandeur  of  wildness, 
and  the  novelty  of  extravagance,  were  always  desired 
by  him,  but  were  not  always  altained.  Yet  as  dili- 
gence is  never  wholly  lost,  if  his  efforts  sometime* 


LIFE  OF  COLLINS.  5 

caused  harshness  and  obscurity,  they  likewise  pro- 
duced in  huppier  moments  sublimity  and  splendor. 
This  idea  which  he  had  formed  of  excellence,  led  him 
to  oriental  fictions  and  allegorical  imagery  :  and,  per- 
haps, while  he  was  intent  upon  description,  he  did  not 
sufficiently  cultivate  sentiment.  His  poems  are  the 
productions  of  a  mind  not  deficient  in  fire,  nor  unfur- 
nished with  knowledge  either  of  books  or  life,  but 
somewhat  obstructed  in  its  progress  by  deviation  in 
quest  of  mistaken  beauties. 

'  His  morals  were  pure,  and  his  opinions  pious  ;  in  a 
long  continuance  of  poverty,  and  long  habits  of  dissipa- 
tion, it  cannot  be  expected  that  any  character  should 
be  exactly  uniform.  There  is  a  degree  of  want  by 
which  the  freedom  of  agency  is  almost  destroyed  :  and 
long  association  with  fortuitous  companions  will  at 
last  relax  the  strictness  of  truth  and  abate  the  fervor  of 
sincerity.  That  this  man,  wise  and  virtuous  as  he  was, 
passed  always  unentangled  through  the  snares  of  life, 
it  would  be  prejudice  and  temerity  to  affirm  ;  but  it 
may  be  said  that  at  least  he  preserved  the  source  of 
action  unpollated,  that  his  principles  were  never 
shaken,  that  his  distinctions  of  right  and  wrong  were 
never  confounded,  and  that  his  faults  had  nothing  of 
malignity  or  design,  but  proceeded  from  some  unex- 
pected pressure,  or  casual  temptation. 

'  The  latter  part  of  his  life  cannot  be  remembered 
but  with  pity  and  sadness.  He  languished  some  years 
under  that  depression  of  mind  which  unchains  the  fac- 
ulties without  destroying  them,  and  leaves  reason  the 
knowledge  of  right,  without  the  power  of  pursuing  it 
these  clouds  which  he  perceived  gathering  on  his  in- 
tellects, he  endeavored  to  disperse  by  travel,  and 
passed  into  France  :  but  found  himself  constrained  to 
yield  to  his  malady,  and  returned.  He  was  for  some 
time  confined  in  a  house  for  lunatics,  and  afterward 
retired  to  the  care  of  his  sister  in  Chichester,  where 
death,  in  1756,  came  to  his  relief. 

'  After  his  return  from  France,  the  writer  of  his  cha- 
racter paid  him  a  visit  at  Islington,  where  he  was  wait- 
ins;  for  his  sister,  whom  he  had  directed  to  meet  him  . 
therw  was  thrn  nothing  of  disorder  discernible  in  his 


6  LIFT.  OK  C'M.LWS. 

mind  by  any  but  himself;  bin  he  had  withdrawn  from 
study,  and  travelled  with  no  other  book  than  an  English 
Testament,  such  as  children  carry  to  the  school :  when 
his  friend  took  it  into  his  hand,  out  of  curiosity  to  see 
what  companion  a  man  of  letters  had  chosen,  "  I  have 
but  one  hook,"  said  Collins,  "  but  that  is  the  best." 

'Such  was  the  fate  of  Collins,  with  whom  I  once 
delighted  to  converse,  and  whom  I  yet  remember  with 
tenderness. 

•  He  was  visited  at  Chichester,  in  his  last  illness,  by 
liis  learned   friends  Dr.  Warton  and  his  brother;   to 
whom  he  spoke  with  disapprobation   of  his  Oriental 
Eclogues,  as  not  sufficiently  expressive  of  Asiatic  man- 
ners, and  called  them  his  Irish  Eclogues.     He  shewed 
them,  at  the  same  time,  an  ode  inscribed  to  Mr.  John 
Hume,  ou  the  Superstitions  of  the  Highlands;   which 
they  thought  superior  to  his  other  works. 

•  Hi>  disorder  was  not  alienation  of  mind,  butgeneral 
laxity  and   feebleness,  a  deficiency  rather  of  his  vital 
than   intellectual    powers.      What   he    spoke    wanted 
neither  judgment  nor  spirit;  but  a  few  minutes   ex- 
hausted him,  so  that  he  was  forced  to   re-t  upon  the 
couch,  till  a  short  cessation  restored  his  powers, and  he 
was  again  ahle  to  talk  with  his  former  vigour. 

'  The  approaches  of  this  dreadful  malady  he  began 
to  feel  soon  after  his  uncle's  death;  and,  with  the  usual 
weakness  of  men  so  diseased,  eagerly  snatched  that 
temporary  relic  f  with  which  the  t.ible  and  the  bottle 
flatter  and  seduce.  But  his  health  continually  declined, 
and  he  grew  more  and  more  burthensome  to  himself. 

•  To  what  I  have  formerly  said   of  his  writings  mav 
lie  add  d,  that  his  diction  was  often  harsh,  unskilfully 
laboured,  and  injudiciously  selected.     He  affected  the 
obsolete  when  it  was  not  worthy  of  revival ;  and  he  puts 
his  words  out  of  the  common  order,  seeming  to  think, 
with  some  latrr  candidates  tor  fame,  that  not  to  wrile 
prose  is  certainly  to  write  poetry.    His  lines  commonly 
are  of  slow  motion,  clogged  and  impeded  with  clusters 
of  consonants.  As  men  are  often  esteemed  who  cannot 
be  loved,  so  the  poetry  of  Collins  may  sometimes  extort 
praise,  when  it  gives  Iktle  pleasure.' 


LIFE  OF  COLLINS.  7 

Mr.  Collins's  first  production  is  added  here  from  thi 
'Poetical  Calendar.' 

TO  MISS  Al'KF.MA  C R. 

On  her  weeping  at  her  Sister'*  Wedding. 

Cea>e,  fair  Aure'ia,  cease  tc  mourn  ; 

Lament  not  Hannah's  happy  state: 
Yon  may  be  happy  in  your  turn. 

And  seize  the  treasure  you  regret. 

With  Love  united  Hymen  stands, 
And  softly  whispers  to  your  charms,— 

'  Meet  but  your  lover  in  my  bands. 
You'll  find  your  sister  in  his  arms." 

A  monument  has  been  erected  by  public  subset  iption 
to  Collins.  He  is  represented  as  just  recovered  from  a 
wild  fit  of  pbrensy,  to  which  he  was  subject,  and  in  a 
calm  and  reclining  posture,  seeking  retuge  from  his 
misfortunes  in  the  consolations  of  the  Gospel,  while  his 
lyre  and  one  of  the  first  of  his  poems  lie  neelected  on 
the  ground,  &c  The  whole  was  executed  by  Flaxroan, 
at  that  Mine  lately  returned  from  Rome  :  the  following 
most  excellent  epitaph  was  written  by  Mr.  Hayley. 

Ye  who  the  merits  of  the  dead  revere, 

Who  hold  misfortune's  »acred  genius  dear. 

Regard  this  tomb,  where  Collins,  hapless  name, 

Solicits  kindness  with  a  double  claim. 

Though  Nature  gave  him,  tnd  though  Science  taught 

The  fire  of  Fancy,  and  the  reach  of  thought, 

Severely  doom'd  to  Penury's  extreme, 

He  pass'd  in  inadd'ning  pain  life's  fev"rish  dream, 

While  rays  of  genius  only  served  to  shew 

The  thick'ning  horror,  and  exalt  his  woe. 

Ye  wal'.s,  that  echo'd  to  his  frantir  moan, 

Guard  the  due  records  of  this  grateful  stone  ; 

Strangers  to  him,  etiamour'd  of  his  lays. 

This  fond  memorial  to  his  talents  raise. 

For  this  the  ashes  of  the  bard  reqnire, 

Who  touch'd  the  tend'rest  notes  of  Pity's  lyre ; 

Who  join'd  pure  faith  to  strong  poetic  powers, 

Who,  in  reviving  Reason's  Iccid  hours, 

Sought  on  one  book  his  troubled  mind  to  rest. 

And  rightly  deem'd  th»  book  of  God  the  be*t. 


8  LIFE  OF  COLLINS. 

STANZAS, 

Written  by  Scott,  of  Amirell,  on  his  return  from  CW- 
Chester,  where  he  had  in  vain  attempted  to  find  tht 
burial  place  of  Collins. 

To  view  the  beauties  of  my  native  land, 

O'er  many  a  pleasing,  distant  scene,  I  rove  j 

Now  climb  the  rock,  or  wander  on  the  strand, 
Or  trace  the  rill,  or  penetrate  the  grove. 

From  Baia's  hills,  from  Portsea's  spreading  wave, 
To  fair  Cicestria's  lonely  walls  I  stray  j 

To  her  famed  Poet's  venerated  grave 
Anxious  my  tribute  of  respect  to  pay. 

O'er  the  dim  pavement  of  the  solemn  fane, 

Midst  the  rude  stones  that  croud  th'adjoining  space, 

The  aacreil  spot  I  seek  :  but  seek  in  vain — 
In  vain  I  ask — for  none  can  point  the  place. 

What  boots  the  eye  whose  quick  observant  glance 
Marks  every  nobler,  every  fairer  form? 

What  ,thc  skill'd  ear  that  sound's  sweet  charms  entrance, 
And  the  fond  breast  with  generous  passion  warm? 

What  boots  the  power  each  image  to  portray, 
The  power  with  force  each  feeling  to  express  ? 

How  vain  the  hope  that  through  life's  little  day, 
The  soul  with  thought  of  future  fame  can  bless. 

While  Folly  frequent  boasts  th'  insculptnred  tomb, 
By  flattery's  pen  inscribed  with  purchased  praise  j 

While  rustic  Labour's  undistinguish'd  doom 

Fond  Friendship's  hand  records  in  humble  phrase  t 

Of  Genius  oft  and  Learning  worse  the  lot, 
For  them  no  care,  to  them  no  honour  shewn  : 

Al've  neglected,  and  when  dead  forgot, 
L'en  COLLINS  slumbers  in  a  grave  unknown. 


ORIENTAL  ECLOGUES 


ECLOGUE  1. 
SELIM;  OR,  THE  SHEPHERD'S  MORAL. 

Scene— k  Valley  near  Bagdat.    Time— The  Morning. 
'  YE  Persian  maids!  attend  your  poet's  lays, 
And  hear  how  shepherds  pass  their  golden  days. 
Not  all  are  blest,  whom  Fortune's  hand  sustains 
With  wealth  in  courts;  nor  all  that  haunt  the  plain*: 
Well  may  your  hearts  believe  the  truths  I  tell ; 
'Tis  virtue  makes  the  bliss  where'er  we  dwell.' 

Thus  Selim  sung,  by  sacred  Truth  inspired ; 
Nor  praise,  but  such  as  Truth  bestow'd,  desired  • 
Wise  in  himself,  his  meaning  songs  convey'd 
Informing  morals  to  the  shepherd  maid  ; 
Or  taught  the  swains  that  sorest  bliss  to  find, 
What  groves  nor  streams  bestow — a  virtuous  mind. 

When  sweet  and  blushing,  like  a  virgin  bride, 
The  radiant  morn  resumed  her  orient  pride  ; 
When  wanton  gales  along  the  valleys  play, 
Breathe  on  each  flower,  and  bear  their  sweet*  away. 
By  Tigris'  wand'ring  waves  he  sat,  and  sung 
This  useful  lesson  for  the  fair  and  young : 

'  Ye  Persian  dames,  he  said,  to  you  belong — 
Well  may  they  please — the  morals  of  my  song  : 
No  fairer  maids,  I  trust,  than  you  are  found, 
Graced  with  soft  arts,  the  peopled  world  around  ! 
The  morn  that  lights  you,  to  your  love  supplies 
Rach  gentler  ray  delicious  to  your  eyes  : 

b 


10  SEL1M  ,  OR, 

For  yon  those  flowers  her  fragrant  hands  bestow, 
And  yours  the  love  that  kings  delight  to  know. 
Yet  think  not  these,  all  beauteous  as  they  are, 
The  best  kind  blessings  Heaven  can  grant  the  fair! 
Who  trust  alone  in  Beauty's  feeble  ray, 
Roast  but  the  worth  Bassora's  pearls  display; 
Drawn  from  the  deep,  we  own  their  surface  bright, 
Rut,  dark  within,  they  drink  no  lustrous  light: 
Such  are  the  maids,  and  such  the  charms  they  boast, 
Uy  sense  unaided,  or  to  virtue  lost. 
Self-flattering  sex  !  your  hearts  believe  in  vain 
That  Love  shall  blind,  when  once  he  fires  the  swain  ; 
Or  hope  a  lover  by  your  faults  to  win, 
As  spots  on  ermine  beautify  the  skin : 
Who  seeks  secure  to  rule,  be  first  her  care 
Each  softer  virtue  that  adorns  the  fair; 
Rach  tender  passion  man  delights  to  find, 
The  loved  perfections  of  a  female  mind  ! 

'  Blest  were  the  days  when  Wisdom  held  her  reign, 
And  shepherds  sought  her  on  the  silent  plain  ; 
With  Truth  she  wedded  in  the  secret  grove, 
Immortal  Truth  !  and  daughters  bless'd  their  love. 

'  O  haste,  fair  maids !  ye  Virtues,  come  away, 
Sweet  1'eace  and  Plenty  lead  you  on  your  way ! 
The  bal  my  shrub  for  you  shall  love  our  shore, 
Uy  Ind  excell'd,  or  Araby,  no  more. 

'  Lost  to  our  fields,  for  so  the  Fates  ordain, 
The  dear  deserters  shall  return  again. 
Come  thou,  whose  thoughts  as  limpid  springs  are  clear, 
To  lead  the  train,  sweet  Modesty,  appear : 
!Ien>  make  thy  court  amidst  our  rural  scene, 
And  shepherd-girls  shall  own  thee  for  their  queen  : 
With  thee  be  Chastity,  of  all  afraid, 
Distrusting  all,  a  wise,  suspicious  maid  j 
But  man  the  most — not  more  the  mountain  doe 
Holds  the  swift  falcon  for  her  deadly  foe. 


POEMS. 


THE  SHEPHERD'S  MORAL.  11 

Cold  is  her  breast,  like  flowers  that  drink  the  dew  ; 
A  silken  veil  conceals  her  from  the  view. 
No  wild  desires  amidst  thy  train  be  known, 
But  Faiih,  whose  heart  is  fix'd  on  one  alone  : 
Desponding  Meekness,  with  her  downcast  eyes, 
And  friendly  Pity,  full  of  tender  sighs : 
And  Love,  the  last :   by  these  your  hearts  approve, 
These  are  the  virtues  that  must  lead  to  love.' 

Thus  sung  the  swain  ;  and  ancient  legends  say, 
The  maids  of  Bagdat  verified  the  lay  : 
Dear  to  the  plains,  the  Virtues  came  along, 
The  shepherds  loved,  and  Selim  bless'd  his  Bong. 


ECLOGUE  II. 
HASSAN;  OR,  THE  CAMEL  DRIVER. 

Scene— The  Desert.    Time—  Mid-day. 
IN  silent  horror,  o'er  the  boundless  waste 
The  driver  Hassan  with  his  camels  past  ; 
One  cruse  of  water  on  his  back  he  bore, 
And  his  light  scrip  contain'd  a  scanty  store ; 
A  fan  of  painted  feathers  in  his  hand, 
To  guard  his  shaded  face  from  scorching  sand. 
The  sultry  sun  had  gain'd  the  middle  sky, 
And  not  a  tree,  and  not  an  herb  was  nigh ; 
The  beasts,  with  pain,  their  dusty  way  pursue, 
Shrill  roarM  the  winds,  and  dreary  was  the  view ! 
With  desperate  sorrow  wild,  th'  affrighted  man 
Thrice  sigh'd,  thrice  struck  his  breast,  and  thns  began 
'  Sad  was  the  hour,  and  luckless  was  the  day, 
When  first  from  Schiraz'  walls  I  bent  my  way! 
'  Ah  !  little  thought  I  of  the  b'asting  wind. 
The  thirst  or  pinching  hunger  that  1  find 

•  0 


12  HASSAN,  OR, 

Hethiuk  thee,  Hassan,  where  shall  thirst  assuage. 
When  fails  this  cruse,  his  unrelenting  rage  ? 
Sunn  shall  this  scrip  its  precious  load  resign; 
Then  what  but  tears  and  hunger  shall  be  thine? 

'  Ye  mute  companions  of  my  toils,  that  bear 
In  all  my  griefs  a  inuie  than  equal  share! 
Here,  where  no  springs  in  murmurs  break  away, 
Or  nioss-ctown'd  fountains  mitigate  the  day, 
In  vain  ye  hope  the  dear  delights  to  know, 
Which  plains  more  blest,  or  verdant  vales  bestow: 
Here  rocks  alone  and  tasteless  sands  are  found, 
And  faint  and  sickly  winds  tor  ever  howl  around. 

Sad  was  the  hour,  and  luckless  was  the  day, 

When  first  from  Schiraz'  walls  I  bent  my  way  ! 

'  Curst  be  the  gold  and  silver  which  persuade 
Weak  men  to  follow  far  fatiguing  trade ! 
The  lily  peace  outshines  the  silver  store, 
And  life  is  dearer  than  tho  golden  oro : 
Yet  money  tempts  us  o'er  the  desert  brown, 
To  every  distant  mart  and  wealthy  town. 
Full  oft  we  tempt  the  land,  and  oft  the  sea  ; 
And  are  we  only  yet  repaid  by  thee  ? 
Ah  !  why  was  ruin  so  attractive  made  ? 
Or  why  fond  man  so  easily  betray'd  ? 
Why  heed  we  not,  while  mad  we  haste  along, 
The  gentle  voice  of  Peace,  or  Pleasure's  song? 
Or  wherefore  think  the  flowery  mountain's  side, 
Th  •  fountain's  murmurs,  and  the  valley's  pride, 
Why  think  we  these  less  pleasing  to  behold 
Than  dreary  deserts,  if  they  lead  to  gold  ? 

Sad  was  the  hour,  and  luckless  was  the  day, 

When  first  from  Schiraz'  walls  I  bent  my  way  ! 

'  Oh  cease,  my  fears! — all  frantic  as  I  go, 
When  thought  creates  unnumberM  scenes  of  woe ; 
What  if  the  lion  in  his  rage  I  meet! — 
Oft  iu  the  dust  I  view  his  printed  feet ; 


THE  CAMEL-DRIVER.  13 

And, fearful!  oft,  when  day's  declining  light 
Yields  her  pale  empire  to  the  mourner  night, 
By  hunger  roused,  he  scours  the  groaning  plain, 
Gaunt  wolves  and  sullen  tigers  in  his  train: 
Before  them  Death  with  shrieks  directs  their  way, 
Fills  the  wild  yell,  and  leads  them  to  their  prey. 
.Sad  was  the  hour,  and  luckless  was  the  day, 
When  first  from  Schiraz'  walls  I  bent  my  way  ! 
'  At  that  dread  hour  the  silent  asp  shall  creep, 
If  aught  of  rest  I  find,  upon  my  sleep  : 
Or  some  swoln  serpent  twist  his  scales  around, 
And  wake  to  anguish  with  a  burning  wound. 
Thrice  happy  they,  the  wise  contented  poor, 
From  lust  of  wealth,  and  dread  of  death  secure! 
They  tempt  no  deserts,  and  no  griefs  they  find; 
Peace  rules  the  day  where  reason  rules  the  mind. 
Sad  was  the  hour,  and  luckless  was  the  day, 
When  first  from  Schiraz'  walls  I  bent  my  way! 
4  O  hapless  youth  ! — for  she  thy  love  hath  won, 
The  tender  Zara  will  be  most  undone! 
Big  swcll'd  my  heart,  and  own'd  the  powerful  maid, 
When  fast  she  dropt  her  tears,  as  thus  she  said  : 
"  Farewell  the  youth  whom  sighs  could  not  detain, 
Whom  Zara's  breaking  heart  implored  in  vain ! 
Vet  as  thou  go'st  may  every  blast  arise 
Weak  and  unfelt,  as  these  rejected  sighs  ! 
Safe  o'er  the  wild,  no  perils  may'st  thou  see, 
No  griefs  endure,  nor  weep,  false  youth,  like  nee '. 
O  let  me  safely  to  the  fair  return, 
Say,  with  a  kiss,  she  must  not,  shall  not  mourn; 
O  !  let  me  teach  my  heart  to  lose  its  fears, 
RecalPd  by  Wisdom's  voice,  and  Zara's  tears  !' 
He  said ;  and  call'd  on  Heaven  to  bless  the  day 
When  back  to  Schiraz'  walls  he  bent  his  way. 


14  ABRA  ,  OR, 

ECLOGUE  III. 
ABRA  ;  OR,  THE  GEORGIAN  SULTANA. 

Scene— A  For.  nt.    Time— The  Ercnin?. 
EN  Georgia's  land,  where  Tefflis'  towers  are  seen, 
In  distant  view,  along  the  level  green. 
While  evening  dews  enrich  the  glittering  glade, 
And  the  tall  forests  cast  a  longer  shade, 
What  time  'tis  sweet  o'er  fields  of  rice  to  stray, 
Or  scent  the  breathing  maize  at  setting  day  ; 
Amidst  the  maids  of  Zagen's  peaceful  grove, 
Emyra  sung  the  pleasing  cares  of  love. 
Of  Abra  first  began  the  tender  strain, 
Who  led  her  youth  with  flocks  upon  the  plain  : 
At  morn  she  came  her  willing  flocks  to  lead, 
Where  lilies  rear  them  in  the  watery  mead  ; 
From  early  dawn  the  live-long  hours  she  told, 
Till  late  at  silent  eve  she  penn'd  the  fold. 
Deep  in  the  grove,  beneath  the  secret  shade, 
A  various  wreath  of  odorous  flowers  she  made : 
•Gay-motley'd  pinks  and  sweet  jonquils  she  chose, 
The  violet  blue  that  on  the  moss-bank  grows  ; 
All  sweet  to  sense,  the  flaunting  rose  was  there  : 
The  finish'd  chaplet  well  adorn'd  her  hair. 

Great  Abbas  chanced  that  fated  morn  to  stray, 
Bv  Love  conducted  from  the  chase  away  j 
Among  the  vocal  vales  he  heard  her  sons, 
And  sought,  the  vales  and  echoing  groves  among: 
At  length  he  found,  aad  woo'd  the  rural  maid  ; 
She  know  the  monarch,  and  with  fear  obey'd. 
*  Be  every  youth  like  royal  Abbas  moved, 
And  every  Georgian  maid  like  Abra  loved  !* 

•  These  flowers  are  found  in  very  great  abundance  in  torn* 
of  thi-  provinces  of  Persia. 


THE  GEORGIAN  —  1YV  YNA.  15 

The  royal  lover  bore  her  from  the  plain; 
Yet  still  her  crook  and  bleating  flock  remain : 
Oft,  as  she  went,  she  backward  turn'd  her  view, 
And  bade  that  crook  and  bleating  flock  adieu. 
Fair,  happy  maid  !  to  other  scenes  remove, 
To  richer  scenes  of  golden  power  and  love! 
Go,  leave  the  simple  pipe,  and  shepherd's  strain  ; 
With  love  delight  thee,  and  with  Abbas  reign. 

•  Be  every  youth  like  royal  Abbas  moved, 
And  every  Georgian  maid  like  Abra  loved  !' 
Yet,  midst  the  blaze  of  courts  she  fix'd  her  love 

On  the  cool  fountain,  or  the  shady  grove; 
Still  with  the  shepherd's  innocence  her  mind 
To  the  sweet  vale  and  flowery  mead  inclined  ; 
And  oft  as  Spring  renew'd  the  plains  with  flowers, 
Breathed  his  soft  gales,  and  led  the  fragrant  hours, 
With  sure  return  she  sought  the  sylvan  scene, 
The  breezy  mountains,  and  the  forests  green. 
Her  maids  around  her  mov'd,  a  duteous  band! 
Each  bore  a  crook  all  rural  in  her  hand  : 
Some  simple  lay,  of  flocks  and  herds  they  sung: 
Witli  joy  the  mountain  and  the  forest  rung. 
'  Be  every  youth  like  royal  Abbas  moved, 
And  every  Georgian  maid  like  Abra  loved!' 
And  oft  the  royal  lover  left  the  care 
And  thorns  of  state,  attendant  on  the  fair; 
Oft  to  the  shades  and  low-roof'd  cots  retired, 
Or  sought  the  vale  where  first  his  heart  was  fired: 
A  russet  mantle,  like  a  swain,  he  wore, 
And  thought  of  crowns  and  busy  courts  no  more. 

•  Be  every  youth  like  royal  Abbas  moved, 
And  every  Georgian  maid  like  Abra  loved  !' 
Blest  was  the  life  that  royal  Abbas  led  : 

Sweet  was  his  love,  and  innocent  his  bed. 
What  if  in  wealth  the  nobli;  maid  excel ; 
The  simple  shepherd  girl  can  love  as  well. 


16  AGIB  AND  SECANDER;  OR, 

Let  those  who  rule  on  Persia's  jewell'd  throne 
Be  famed  for  love,  and  gentlest  love  alone  ; 
Or  wreath,  like  Abbas,  full  of  fair  renown, 
The  lover's  myrtle  with  the  warrior's  crown. 
O  happy  days!  the  maids  around  her  say; 
O  haste,  profuse  of  blessings,  haste  away ! 
'  Be  every  youth  like  royal  Abbas  moved, 
And  every  Georgian  maid  like  Abra  loved!' 


KCLOGUE  IV. 

AGIB  AND  SECANDER;  OR,  THE 
FUGITIVES. 

Sfrne—  A  Mountain  in  Tircassia.     Time— Midnight. 

IN  fair  Circassia.  where,  to  love  inclined, 
Each  swain  was  blest,  for  every  maid  was  kiud  ; 

At  that  still  hour,  when  awful  midnight  reigns, 
And  n-~nc  but  wretches  haunt  the  twilight  plains; 
What  time  the  Moon  had  hung  her  lamp  on  high 
And  past  in  radiance  through  the  cloudless  sky; 
Sad  o'er  the  dews  two  brother  shepherds  fled, 
Where  wildcring  fear  and  desperate  sorrow  led  : 
Fast  as  they  prest  their  flight,  behind  them  lay 
Wild  ravaged  plains,  and  valleys  stole  away. 
Along  the  mountain's  bending  sides  they  ran, 
Till,  faint  and  weak,  Secander  thug  began : 

Seconder. 

'  Oh,  stay  thee,  Agib,  for  my  feet  deny, 
No  longer  friendly  to  my  life,  to  fly. 
Friend  of  my  hear! !  Oh  turn  thee  and  survey. 
Trace  our  long  flight  through  all  its  length  of  way  ! 
And  first  review  that  long-extended  plain, 
And  yon  wide  proves,  already  past  with  pain! 
Yon  ragged  cliff,  whose  dangerous  path  we  tried! 
And,  last,  this  lofty  mountain'*  weary  side  !' 


THE  FUGIT1V  ES.  17 

Agib. 

'  Weak  as  thou  art,  yet  hapless  must  thou  know 
The  toils  of  flight,  or  some  severer  woe! 
Still  as  I  haste,  the  Tartar  shouts  behind, 
And  shrieks  and  sorrows  load  the  saddening  wind  : 
In  rage  of  heart,  with  ruin  in  his  hand, 
He  blasts  our  harvests,  and  deforms  our  land. 
Yon  citron  grove,  whence  first  in  fear  we  came, 
Droops  its  fair  honours  to  the  conquering  flame : 
Far  fly  the  swains,  like  us,  in  deep  despair, 
And  leave  to  ruffian  bands  their  fleecy  care.' 

Seconder. 

'  Unhappy  land !  whose  blessings  tempt  the  sword, 
In  vain,  unheard,  thou  call'bt  thy  Persian  lord  ! 
In  vain  thou  court'st  him,  helpless,  to  thine  aid, 
To  shield  the  shepherd,  and  protect  the  maid  ! 
Far  off,  in  thoughtless  indolence  resign'd, 
Soft  dreams  of  love  and  pleasure  soothe  his  mind; 
Midst  fair  sultanas  lost  in  idle  joy, 
No  wars  alarm  him,  and  no  fears  annoy.' 

Agib. 

'  Yet  these  green  hills,  in  summer's  sultry  heat 
Have  lent  the  monarch  oft  a  cool  retreat. 
Sweet  to  the  sight  is  Zabran's  flowery  plain, 
And  once  by  maids  and  shepherds  loved  in  vain! 
No  more  the  virgins  shall  delight  to  rove 
By  Sargis'  banks,  or  Irwan's  shady  grove  ; 
On  Tarkie's  mountains  catch  the  cooling  gale, 
Or  breathe  the  sweets  of  Aly's  flowery  vale : 
Pair  scenes  !  but,  ah  !  no  more  with  peace  possest. 
With  ease  alluring,  and  with  plenty  blest ! 
No  more  the  shepherds'  whitening  tents  appear, 
Nor  the  kind  products  of  a  bounteous  year; 
No  more  the  date,  with  snowy  blossoms  crown'd  ! 
But  Ruin  spreads  her  baleful  tires  around.' 


18  AGIB  AND  SEOANPER. 

Seconder.  I 

*  In  vain  Circassia  boasts  her  spicy  groves,  i 

For  over  famed  for  pure  and  happy  loves  : 
In  vain  she  boasts  her  taircst  of  the  fair, 
Their  eyes'  blue  languish,  and  their  golden  hair. 
Those  eyes  in  tears  their  fruitless  grief  must  send) 
Those  hairs  the  Tartar's  cruel  hand  shall  reud/ 

Agib. 

'  Ye  Georgian  swains,  that  piteous  learn  from  far 
Circassia's  ruin,  and  th-e  waste  of  war  : 
Some  weightier  arms  than  crooks  and  staffs  prepare* 
To  shield  your  harvests,  and  defend  your  fair: 
The  Turk  and  Tartar  like  designs  \  ursue, 
Fix'd  to  destroy,  and  steadfast  to  undo. 
Wild  as  his  land,  in  native  deserts  bred, 
By  lust  incited,  or  by  malice  led, 
The  villain  Arab,  as  he  prowls  for  prey, 
Oft  marks  with  blood  and  wasting  flames  the  way; 
Yet  none  so  cruel  as  the  Tartar  foe, 
To  death  inured,  and  nursed  in  scenes  of  woe.* 

He  said :  when  loud  along  the  vale  was  heard 
A  shriller  shriek,  and  nearer  fires  appear'd. 
Th'  affrighted  shepherds  through  the  dews  of  night, 
Wide  o'er  the  moonlight  bills  renew'd  their  flight 


ODES, 
DESCRIPTIVE  AND  ALLEGORICAL, 


TO  PITY. 

O  THOU  !  the  friend  of  man,  assign'd 
With  balmy  hands  his  wounds  to  bind, 

And  charm  his  frantic  woe, 
When  first  Distress,  with  dagger  keen, 
Broke  forth  to  waste  his  destined  scene, 

His  wild  insated  foel 

By  Pella's*  bard,  a  magic  name, 

By  aU  the  priefs  his  thought  could  frame, 

Receive  my  humM'i  mite 
Long,  Pity,  let  the  nations  view 
Thy  sky-worn  robes  of  tenderest  blue. 

And  eyes  of  dewy  H?ht ! 

But  wherefore  need  1  waudcr  wide 
To  old  Ilissus'  distant  side, 

Deserted  stream,  and  mute  ? 
Wild  Amu*  too  has  heard  thy  strains, 
And  Echo,  midst  my  native  plains, 

Been  soothed  by  Pity's  lute. 

There  first  the  wren  thy  myrtles  shed 
On  gentlest  Otway's  infant  head, 

To  him  thy  cell  was  shewn ; 
And  while  he  sung  the  female  heart, 
With  youth's  soft  notes  unspoil'd  by  an, 

Thy  turtles  mix'd  their  own. 

•  Euripide*.  t  A  river  In  Suae*. 


80  TO  FEAR. 

Come,  Pity  !  come;  by  Fancy's  aid, 
Ev'n  now  my  thoughts,  relenting  maid, 

Thy  temple's  pride  design : 
Its  southern  site,  its  truth  complete. 
Shall  raise  a  wild  enthusiast  heat 

In  all  who  view  the  shrine. 
There  Picture's  toil  shall  well  relate, 
IIow  chance,  or  hard  involving  fate, 

O'er  mortal  bliss  prevail  : 
The  buskin'd  Muse  shall  near  her  stand, 
And  sighing  prompt  her  tender  hand, 

With  each  disastrous  tale. 
There  let  me  oft,  retired  by  day, 
In  dreams  of  passion  melt  away, 

Allow'd  with  thee  to  dwell : 
There  waste  the  mournful  lamp  of  night, 
Till,  Virgin,  thou  again  delight 

To  hear  a  British  shell ' 


TO  FEAR. 

THOU,  to  whom  the  world  unknown, 
With  all  its  shadowy  shapes,  is  shewn} 
Who  see'st  appall'd  th'  unreal  scene, 
While  Fancy  lifts  the  veil  between; 

Ah  Fear!  ah,  frantic  Fear! 

I  see,  I  sec  thee  near. 
I  know  thy  hurried  step,  thy  haggard  eye! 
Like  thee  1  start,  like  thee  disorder'd  fly, 

For,  lo !  what  monsters  in  thy  train  appear! 
Danger,  whose  limbs  of  giant  mould 
What  mortal  eye  can  fix'd  behold  ? 
Who  stalks  his  round,  an  hideous  form, 
Howling  amidst  the  midnight  storm ; 


TO  FE/R. 

Or  throws  him  on  the  ridgy  steep 
Of  some  loose  hanging  rock  to  sleep : 
And  with  him  thousand  phantoms  join'd, 
Who  prompt  to  deeds  accursed  the  mind  : 
And  those,  the  fiends,  who  near  allied, 
O'er  Nature's  wounds,  and  wrecks  preside ; 
While  Vengeance,  in  the  lurid  air, 
Lifts  her  red  arm,  exposed  and  bare : 
On  whom  that  ravening*  brood  of  Fate, 
Who  lap  the  blood  of  Sorrow,  wait-, 
Who,  Fear,  this  ghastly  train  can  see. 
And  look  not  madly  wild  like  thee ! 

Epode. 

In  earliest  Greece,  to  thee,  with  partial  choice. 

The  grief-full  Muse  addrest  her  infant  tongue  j 
The  maids  and  matrons,  on  her  awful  voice. 

Silent  and  pale,  in  wild  amazement  hung. 
Yet  he,  the  bardt  who  first  invoked  thy  name, 

Disdain'd  in  Marathon  its  power  to  feel : 
For  not  alone  he  nursed  the  poet's  flame, 

But  reach'd  from  Virtue's  hand  the  patriot's  steel. 
But  who  is  he,  whom  later  garlands  grace, 

Who  left  awhile  o'er  Hybla's  dews  to  rove, 
With  trembling  eyes  thy  dreary  steps  to  trace, 

Where  thou  and  furies  shared  the  baleful  grove  t 
Wrapt  in  thy  cloudy  veil  th'  incestuous  queen! 

Sigh'd  the  sad  call  her  son  and  husband  heard, 
Wlien  once  alone  it  broke  the  silent  scene, 

And  he  the  wretch  of  Thebes  no  more  appearM. 
O  Fear!  I  know  thee  by  my  throbbing  heart, 

Thy  withering  power  inspired  each  mournful  line. 
Though  gentle  Pity  claim  her  mingled  part, 

Yet  all  the  thunder*  of  the  scene  are  thine ! 
*  Sophocles'  Electra.  t  JE»chjliu.  }  , 


82  TO  FEAR. 

Antittrophe. 

Thou  who  such  weary  lengths  hast  pant, 
Where  wilt  thou  rest,  mad  nymph,  at  iastt 
Say,  wilt  thou  shroud  in  haunted  cell, 
Where  gloomy  Rape  and  Murder  dwell? 

Or  in  some  hallow'd  seat, 

'Gainst  which  the  big  waves  beat, 
Hear  drowning  seamen's  cries  in  tempests  brought . 
Dark   Power!    with   shuddering,  meek,  submitted 

thought, 

Be  mine  to  read  the  visions  old, 
Which  thy  awakening  bards  have  told 

And,  lest  thou  meet  my  blasted  view, 
Hold  each  strange  tale  devoutly  true  j 
Ne'er  be  I  found,  by  thee  o'er-awed, 
In  that  thrice-hallow'd  eve  abroad, 
When  ghosts,  as  cottage-maids  believe, 
Their  pebbled  beds  permitted  leave, 
And  goblins  haunt,  from  fire,  or  fen, 
Or  mine,  or  hood,  the  walks  of  men! 

0  thou,  whose  spirit  most  possest 
The  sacred  seat  of  Shakspeare's  breast? 
By  all  that  from  thy  prophet  broke, 
In  thy  divine  emotions  spoke  I 
Hither  again  thy  fury  deal, 
Teach  me  but  once  like  him  to  feel  i 
His  cypress  wreath  my  meed  decree, 
And  I,  O  Fear,  will  dwell  with  UMM  - 


TO  SIMPLICITY. 

O  THOU,  by  Nature  taught 

To  breathe  her  genuine  thought, 
In  numbers  warmly  pure,  and  sweetly  strong : 

Who  first  on  mountains  wild, 

In  Fancy,  loveliest  child, 
Thy  babe,  and  Pleasure's,  nursed  the  powers  of  song! 

Thou,  who  with  hermit  heart 

Disdain'st  the  wealth  of  art, 
And  gauds,  and  pageant  weeds,  and  trailing  pall: 

But  com'st  a  decent  maid, 

In  Attic  robe  array'd, 
O  chaste,  unboastful  nymph  !  to  thee  I  call  1 

By  all  the  honey'd  store 

On  Hybla's  thymy  shore, 
By  all  her  blooms,  and  mingled  murmurs  dear. 

By  her  whose  love  lorn  woe, 

In  evening  musings  slow, 
Soothed,  sweetly  sad,  Electra's  poet's  ear: 

By  old  Cephisus'  deep, 

Who  spread  his  wavy  sweep 
In  warbled  wanderings  round  thy  green  retreat, 

On  whose  enamell'd  side, 

When  holy  Freedom  died, 
No  equal  haunt  allured  thy  future  feet. 

O  sister  meek  of  Truth, 

To  my  admiring  youth 
Thy  sober  aid  and  native  charms  infuse! 

The  flowers  that  sweetest  breathe, 

Though  beauty  cull'd  the  wreath, 
Still  ask  thy  hand  to  range  their  order'd  hue*. 


14         ON  THE  POETICAL  CHARACTER. 

While  Rome  could  none  esteem 

But  virtue's  patriot  theme, 
You  loved  her  hills,  and  led  her  laureate  band  ; 

But  staid  to  sing  alone 

To  one  distinguish'd  throne. 
And  turn'd  thy  face,  and  fled  her  alter'd  land. 

No  more,  in  hall  or  bower, 

The  passions  own  thy  power. 
Love,  only  Love,  her  forceless  numbers  mean; 

For  thou  hast  left  her  shrine, 

Nor  olive  more,  nor  vine, 
Shall  gain  thy  feet  to  bless  the  servile  scene. 

Though  taste,  though  genius,  bless 

To  some  divine  excess, 
Faint's  the  cold  work  till  thou  inspire  the  whole: 

What  each,  what  all  supply, 

May  court,  may  charm  our  eye, 
Thou '.  only  thou  canst  raise  the  meeting  soul  I 

Of  these  let  others  ask, 

To  aid  some  mighty  task, 
I  only  seek  to  find  thy  temperate  vale : 

Where  oft  my  reed  might  sound 

To  maids  and  shepherds  round, 
And  all  thy  sons,  O  Nature  !  learn  my  tale. 


ON  THE  POETICAL  CHARACTER. 

As  once,  if  not  with  light  regard, 
I  read  aright  that  gifted  bard 
(Him  whose  school  above  the  rest 
His  loveliest  Elfin  queen  has  blest), 
One,  only  one,  unrivall'd  fair," 
Might  hope  the  magic  girdle  wear, 
•  Floriniel.    See  Spenser,  Leg.  «h. 


ON  THE  POETICAL  CHARACTER.        25 

At  solemn  turney  hung  on  high, 
The  wish  of  each  love-darting  eye. 

Lo!  to  each  other  nymph  in  turn  applied, 

As  if,  in  air  unseen,  some  hovering  hand, 
Some  chaste  and  angel-friend  to  virgin-fame, 

With  whisper'd  spell  had  burst  the  starting  band. 
It  left  unblest  her  loathed  dishonour'd  side  ; 
Happier,  hopeless  fair,  if  never 
Her  baffled  hand  with  vain  endeavour 
Had  touch'd  that  fatal  zone  to  her  denied  ! 

Young  Fancy  thus,  to  me  divinest  name. 

To  whom,  prepared  and  bathed  in  heaven* 

The  cest  of  amplest  power  is  given, 

To  few  the  god-like  gift  assigns, 

To  gird  their  blest  prophetic  loins, 
And  gaze  her  visions  wild,  and  feel  unmix'd  her 
flame, 

The  band,  as  fairy  legends  say, 

Was  wove  on  that  creating  day, 
When  He,  who  call'd  with  thought  to  birth 
Yon  tented  sky,  this  laughing  earth, 
And  drest  with  springs,  and  forests  tall, 
And  pour'd  the  main  engirting  all, 
Long  by  the  loved  enthusiast  woo'd, 
Himself  in  some  diviner  mood, 
Retiring,  sat  with  her  alone. 
And  placed  her  on  his  sapphire  throne. 
The  whiles,  the  vaulted  shrine  around. 
Seraphic  wires  were  heard  to  sound, 
Now  suhliincst  triumph  swelling, 
Now  or.  love  and  mercy  dwelling; 
And  she,  from  out  the  veiling  cloud, 
Breathed  her  magic  notes  aloud  : 
And  thou,  thou  rich-hair'd  youth  of  mom, 
And  all  'hj  tubir.ct  life  was  born! 
C 


20         ON  TUB  POETICAL  CHARACTER. 

The  dangerous  passions  krpt  aloof, 
Far  from  the  sainted  growing  woof  j 
Hut  near  it  sat  ecstatic  Wonder, 
Listening  the  deep  applauding  thunder  I 
And  Truth,  in  sunny  vest  array'd. 
By  whose  the  Tarsel's  eyes  were  made; 
And  the  shadowy  tribes  of  Mind, 
In  braided  dauce  the.ir  murmurs  join'd, 
And  all  the  bright  uncounted  powers 
Who  feed  on  heaven's  ambrosial  flowers. 
— Where  is  the  bard  whose  soul  can  now 
Its  high  presuming  hopes  avow? 
Where  he  who  thinks,  with  rapture  blind, 
This  hallow'd  work  for  him  design'd? 
High  on  some  cliff,  to  heaven  up-piled, 
Of  rude  access,  of  prospect  wild, 
Where,  (angled  round  the  jealous  steep, 
Strange  shades  o'erbrow  the  valleys  deep, 
And  holy  Genii  guard  the  rock, 
Its  glooms  embrown,  its  springs  unlock, 

While  on  its  rich  ambitious  head 

An  Eden,  like  his  own,  lies  spread, 
I  view  that  oak,  the  fancied  glades  among, 
By  which,  as  Milton  lay,  his  evening  ear, 
From  many  a  cloud  that  dropp'd  ethereal  dew, 
Night  sphered  in  heaven  its  native  strains  could  hear} 
On  which  that  ancient  trump  he  reach'd  was  hung : 

Thither  oft  his  glory  greeting, 

From  Waller's  myrtle  shades  retreating, 
With  many  a  vow  from  Hope's  aspiring  tongue, 
My  trembling  feet  his  guiding  step  pursue  ; 

In  vain — Such  bliss  to  one  alone, 

Of  all  the  sous  of  soul,  was  known, 
And  Heaven,  and  Fancy,  kindred  powers, 
Have  now  o'erturn'd  th'  inspiring  bowers, 
Or  curtain'd  close  such  scenes  from  every  future  view. 


27 


WSITTEM  IN  THE  YEAR  MDOCXLVI. 

How  sleep  the  brave,  who  sink  to  rest, 
By  all  their  country's  wishes  blest ! 
When  Spring,  with  dewy  fingers  cold, 
Returns  to  deck  their  hallow'd  mould, 
She  there  shall  dress  a  sweeter  sod 
Than  Fancy's  feet  have  ever  trod 

By  fairy  hands  their  knell  is  rung, 
By  forms  unseen  their  dirge  is  sung  : 
There  Honour  comes,  a  pilgrim  gray, 
To  bless  the  turf  that  wraps  their  clay. 
And  Freedom  shall  awhile  repair, 
To  dwell  a  weeping  hermit  there  ! 


TO  MERCY. 

Strophe. 
O  THOU  !  who  sitt'st  a  smiling  bride, 

By  Valour's  arm'd  and  awful  side, 
Gentlest  of  sky-born  forms,  and  best  adored ; 

Who  oft,  with  songs,  divine  to  hear, 

Winn'st  from  his  fatal  grasp  the  spear, 
And  hidest  in  wreaths  of  flowers  his  bloodless  sword  ! 

Thou  who,  amidst  the  deathful  field, 

By  godlike  chiefs  alone  beheld, 
Oft  with  thy  bosom  bare  art  found, 
Pleading  for  him,  the  youth  who  sinks  to  ground  : 

See,  Mercy,  see  !  with  pure  and  loaded  hands, 

Before  thy  shrine  my  country's  Genius  stands, 
Aud  decks  thy  altar  still,  (bough  pierced  with  many  a 
wound ! 

iD 


28  TO  LIBERTY 

Antistrophe. 

When  he  whom  even  our  joys  provoke, 

The  fiend  of  Nature,  join'd  his  yoke, 
And  rushed  in  wrath  to  make  our  isle  his  prey : 

Thy  form,  from  out  thy  sweet  abode, 

O'ertook  him  on  his  blasted  road, 
And  stopp'd  his  wheels,  and  look'd  his  rage  away. 

I  see  recoil  his  sable  steeds, 

That  bore  him  swift  to  savage  deeds, 
Thy  tender  melting  eyes  they  own  : 
O  maid  !  for  all  thy  love  in  Britain  shewn, 

Where  Justice  bars  her  iron  tower, 

To  thee  we  build  a  roseate  bower, 
Thou,  thou  shall  rule  our  queen,  and  share  our  mon- 
arch's throne ! 


TO   LIBERTY. 

Strophe. 

WHO  shall  awake  the  Spartan  fife, 

And  call  in  solemn  sounds  to  life 
The  youths,  whose  locks  divinely  spreading, 

Like  vernal  hyacinths  in  sullen  hue, 
At  once  the  breath  of  fear  and  virtue  shedding, 

Applauding  Freedom  loved  of  old  to  view  ? 
What  new  Alcseus,  fancy-blest, 
Shall  sing  the  sword,  in  myrtles  drest, 

At  Wisdom's  shrine  awhile  its  flame  concealing, 
(What  place  so  fit  to  seal  a  deed  renown'd  ?) 

Till  she  her  brightest  lightnings  round  revealing, 
Itleap'd  in  glory  forth,  and  dealt  her  prompted  wound  ? 

O  Goddess  !  in  that  feeling  hour, 
When  most  its  sounds  would  court  thy  ears, 

Let  not  my  shell's  misguided  power 
E'er  draw  thy  sad.  thy  mindful  tears. 


TO  HBliRTY.  29 

No,  Freedom  !  no,  I  wili  n<.t  tell 
How  Rome,  before  thy  wcc.piug  face, 

With  heaviest  sound,  a  giant  statue,  fell, 
Push'd  by  a  wild  and  artless  race 
From  off  its  wide  ambitious  base, 
When  Time  his  northern  sons  of  spoil  awoke, 
And  all  the  blended  work  of  strength  and  grace, 
With  many  a  rude  repeated  stroke, 
And  many  a  barbarous  yell,  to  thousand  fragment* 
broke  ! 

Epode  1. 

Yet  e'en,  where'er  the  least  appear'd, 
Th' admiring  world  thy  hand  revered  : 
Still,  'midst  the  scatter'd  states  around, 
Some  remnants  of  her  strength  were  found  : 
They  saw,  by  what  escaped  the  storm, 
How  wondrous  rose  her  perfect  form, 
How  in  the  great,  the  labour'd  whole, 
Uach  mighty  master  pour'd  his  soul  ! 
For  sunny  Florence,  seat  of  art, 
Beneath  her  vines  preserved  a  part, 
Till  they,  whom  Science  loved  to  name, 
(Oh  !  who  could  fear  it?)  quench'd  her  flame. 
And  lo,  an  humbler  relic  laid 
In  jealous  Pisa's  olive  shade  ! 
See  small  Marino  joins  the  theme, 
Though  least,  not  last  in  thy  esteem ; 
Strike,  louder  strike,  th'  ennobling  strings 
To  those,  whose  merchant-sons  were  kingf  ; 
To  him  who  deck'd  with  pearly  pride, 
In  Adria  weds  his  green-hair'd  bride  : 
Hail,  port  of  glory,  wealth,  and  pleasure  ! 
Ne'er  let  me  change  this  Lydian  measure; 
Nor  e'er  her  former  pride  relate, 
To  sad  Liguria's  bleeding  state. 


30  TO  LIBERTY. 

Ah,  no!  more  pleased  thy  haunts  I  seek. 

On  wild  Helvetia's  mountains  bleak: 

(Where,  when  the  favour'd  of  thy  choice, 

Tht:  tlaiing  archer  heard  thy  voice; 

Forth  t'roin  his  eyrie  roused  in  dread, 

The  ravening  eagle  northward  fled.) 

Or  dwell  in  willowM  meads  more  near, 

With  ihose  •  to  whom  thy  stork  is  dear: 
Those  whom  the  rod  of  Alva  bruised, 
Whi.se  crown  a  IJritish  queen  refused. 

The  magic  works,  thou  fecl'st  the  strains, 

Oue  holier  name  alone  remains  : 

The  perfect  spell  shall  then  avail, 

Hail,  nymph  !  adored  by  Britain,  hail! 

Antistroplte. 

Ki-ycnd  thr  measure  vast  of  thought, 
The  works,  the  wizard  Time  has  wrought! 

The  Gaul,  'tis  held  of  antique  story, 
Saw  Britain  link'd  to  his  now  adverse  strand,t 

No  sea  between,  nor  cliffs  sublime  and  hoary, 
He  pass'd  with  unwet  feet  through  all  our  land. 
To  the  blown  Baltic  then,  they  say, 
The  wild  waves  found  another  way, 
Where  Orcas  howls,  his  wolfish  mountains  rounding  ; 

Till  all  the  banded  west  at  once  'gan  rise, 
A  wide  wild  storm  even  Nature's  self  confounding. 
Withering  her  giant  sons  with  strange  uncouth 
surprise. 

*  The  Drri-li,  amongst  whom  there  are  very  severe  penalties  for 
those  who  are  convicted  of  kill. 114  mi.  hi  (|.  They  are  kept  tame  in 
almo-i  all  their  towns,  ami .particularly  at  Ihe  Hague  :  of  lite  arms  o/ 
which  they  imtke  a  part.  The  common  people  of  Holland  are  «atd  to 
em.  ruin  a  *i|>er*titious  sentiment,  that  if  the  whole  s|,eciei  of  them 
thnulil  beoinie  rxtiuci,  they  should  lose  llieir  liberties. 

I  I  hi-  ir.iiil.inni«  mentioned  by  several  of  our  olil  hi»i"rian«.  Some 
oaluralists  too  have  f  mleavoured  In  support  the  prohabili  j  of  Ih« 
fact,  hy  aruuinent^  drawn  from  the  correspondent  di«positiou  of  Ibc 
two  oppUbltt;  cou»t*. 


TO  MBliRTY.  3] 

This  pillar'd  earth,  so  firm  and  wide, 

By  winds  and  inward  labours  torn. 

In  thunders  dread  was  pusli'd  aside, 

And  down  the  shouldering  billows  borne. 
And  see  like  gems  her  laughing  train, 

The  little  isles  on  every  side; 
Mona,*  once  hid  from  those  who  search  the  main, 

Where  thousand  elfin  shapes  abide, 
And  Wight,  who  checks  the  westering  tide, 

Forthee  consenting  Heaven  has  each  bestow'd, 
A  fair  attendant  on  her  sovereign  pride: 

To  thee  this  blest  divorce  she  owed, 
For  thou  hast  made  her  vales  thy  loved,  thy  last  abode 

Epode  II. 

Then,  too,  'tis  said,  an  hoary  pile 
'Midst  the  green  navel  of  our  isle, 
Thy  shrine  in  some  religious  wood, 
O  soul  enforcing  Goddess!  stood  ; 
There  oft  the  painted  native's  feet 
Were  wont  thy  form  celestial  meet; 
Though  now  with  hopeless  toil  we  trace 
Time's  backward  rolls,  to  find  its  place; 
Whether  the  fiery-tressed  Dane, 
Or  Roman's  self,  o'erturned  the  fane: 
Or  in  what  heaven  left  age  it  fell ; 
'Twere  hard  for  modern  song  to  tell. 
Yet  still,  if  Truth  those  beams  infuse, 
Which  guide  at  once,  and  charm  the  Muse, 

•  There  is  a  tradition  In  the  Isle  of  Man,  that  a  mermaid  becomins, 
enamoured  <if  <t  yoiiii!<  BUB  of  extraordinary  beauty,  took  an  upper 
tunity  of  mti'linf*  him  one  day  as  he  walked  on  the  shore,  and  opened 
her  pas-ion  lo  h.m,  but  was  received  «-ith  a  coldness,  occasioned  by 
his  Horror  *Bd  MrprhMi  at  her  appcuraiiro.  Thi«,  howeter,  w,w  »o 
niisriiii-i  rued  by  the  sea-lady,  that  In  revenge  for  his  treatment  of  her 
the  punished  tlie  whole  island,  l>y  rm-rrm.:  it  wild  a  mist,  so  that  all 
who  attempted  to  carry  on  any  commerce  with  It,  either  never  arrived 
at  it,  but  wandered  up  and  down  the  w  i,  or  were  upon  a  sudden 
wrecked  uiioo  its  cliffs. 


32  TO  LIBERTY. 

Beyond  yon  braided  clouds  that  lie, 
Paving  the  light  embroider'd  sky, 
Amidst  the  bright  pavilion'd  plains 
The  beauteous  model  still  remains. 
There  happier  than  in  islands  blest, 
Or  bowers  by  Spring  or  Hebe  drest, 
The  chiefs  who  fill  our  Albion's  story, 
In  warlike  weeds,  retired  in  glory, 
Hear  their  consorted  Druids  sing 
Their  triumphs  to  th'  immortal  string. 

How  may  the  poet  now  unfold 
What  never  tongue  or  numbers  told? 
How  learn,  delighted  and  amazed, 
What  hands  unknown  that  fabric  raised  ? 
E'en  now,  before  his  favour'd  eyes, 
In  Gothic  pride  it  seems  to  rise  ! 
Yet  Grccia's  graceful  orders  join, 
Majestic  through  the  mix'd  design  : 
The  secret  builder  knew  to  choose 
Each  sphere-found  gem  of  richest  hues : 
Whate'er  heaven's  purer  mould  contain*, 
^'hen  nearer  suns  emblaze  its  veins; 
There  on  the  walls  the  Patriot's  sight 
May  ever  hang  with  fresh  delight, 
And,  graved  with  some  prophetic  rage, 
Read  Albion's  fame  through  every  age. 

Ye  forms  divine,  ye  laureate  band, 
That  near  her  inmost  altar  stand  ! 
Now  soothe  her,  to  her  blissful  train 
iilithr  Concord's  social  form  to  gain: 
Concord,  whose  myrtle  wand  can  steep 
E'en  Anger's  blood  shot  eyes  in  sleep  : 
Before  whose  breathing  bosom's  balm, 
Rage  drops  his  strrl,  and  storms  grow  calm  • 
Here  let  our  sires  and  matrons  hoar 
Welcome  tu  Britain'*  ravaged  shore  ; 


TO  A  LADY.  33 

Oar  youths,  enamour'd  of  the  fair, 
Play  with  the  tangles  of  her  hair, 
Till,  in  one  loud  applauding  sound, 
The  nations  shout  to  her  around, 
'  Oh  how  supremely  art  tbou  blest ! 
Thou,  lady — thou  shah  rule  the  West  I' 


TO  A  LADY, 

On  the  Death  of  Colonel  Charlet  Ron,  m  tht 
Action  at  Fontenoy 

Written  May,  1745. 

WHILE, lost  to  all  his  former  mirth, 
Britannia's  genius  bends  to  earth, 

And  mourns  the  fatal  day  ; 
While  stain'd  wiih  blood  he  strives  to  teat, 
Unseemly,  from  his  sea  green  hair 

The  wreaths  of  cheerful  May  : 
The  thoughts  which  musing  Pity  pays, 
Andjond  Remembrance  loves  to  raise. 

Your  faithful  hours  attend: 
Still  Fancy,  to  herself  unkind, 
Awakes  to  giief  the  soften'd  mind. 

And  points  the  bleeding  friend. 
By  rapid  Scheldt's  descending  wave 
His  country's  vows  shall  bless  the  grave 

Where'er  the  youth  is  laid: 
That  sacred  spot  the  village  hind 
With  every  sweetest  turf  shall  bind, 

And  Peace  protect  the  shade. 
O'er  him,  whose  doom  thy  virtues  grieve, 
Aerial  forms  shall  sit  at  eve,' 

And  bend  the  pensive  head  '. 
C  2 


34  TO   A    LADY. 

And,  fall'n  to  save  his  injured  land. 
Imperial  Honour's  awful  hand 
Shall  point  his  lonely  bed  ! 

The  warlike  dead  of  every  age, 
Who  fill  the  fair  recording  page, 
Shall  leave  their  sainted  rest; 
And,  half  reclining  on  his  spear. 
Each  wondering  chief  hy  turns  appear, 
To  hail  the  blooming  guest. 

Old  Edward's  sons,  unknown  to  yield, 
Shall  crowd  from  Cressy's  laurell'd  field. 

And  gaze  with  fix'd  delight : 
Again  for  Britain's  wrongs  they  feel, 
Again  they  snatch  the  gl«amy  steel. 

And  wish  th'  avenging  fig^ht. 

But  lo,  where,  sunk  in  deep  despair, 
Her  garments  torn,  her  bosom  bare. 

Impatient  Freedom  lies  ! 
Her  matted  tresses  madly  spread, 
To  every  sod  which  wraps  the  dead 

She  turns  her  joyless  eyes. 

Ne'er  shall  she  leave  that  lowly  ground 
Till  notes  of  triumph  bursting  round 

Proclaim  her  reign  restored  : 
Till  William  seek  the  sad  retreat, 
And  bleeding  at  her  sacred  feet, 

Present  the  sated  sword. 

If,  weak  to  soothe  so  soft  a  heart, 
These  pictured  glories  nought  impart. 

To  dry  thy  constant  tear  : 
If  yet,  in  Sorrow's  distant  eye, 
Exposed  and  pale  thou  see'st  him  lie, 

Wild  War  insulting  near  • 


TO  KVKNING.  35 

Where'er  from  time  thou  court's!  relief, 
The  Muse  shall  still,  with  social  grief. 

Her  gentlest  promise  keep  : 
E'en  humble  Harting's  coitaged  vale 
Shall  learn  the  sad  repeated  tale. 

And  bid  her  shepherds  weep. 


TO  EVENING. 

IP  aught  of  oaten  stop,  or  pastoral  song, 

May  hope,  chaste  Eve,  to  soothe  thy  modest  ear 

Like  thy  own  solemn  springs, 

Thy  springs,  and  dying  gales; 

O  nymph  reserved  !  while  now  the  bright-hairM  sun 
Sits  in  yon  western  tent,  whoso  cloudy  skirts, 

With  brede  ethereal  wove, 

O'erhang  his  wavy  bed  : — 

Now  air  is  hush'd,  save  where  the  weak-eyed  bat 
With  short  shrill  shriek  flits  by  on  leathern  wiag  j 

Or  where  the  beetle  winds 

His  small  but  sullen  horn, 
As  oft  he  rises  'midst  the  twilight  path, 
Against  the  pilgrim  borne  in  heedless  hum  : 

Now  teach  me,  maid  composed, 

To  breathe  some  soften'd  strain. 
Whose  numbers,  stealing  through  thy  dark'ning  vale, 
May  not  unseemly  with  its  stillness  suit, 

As,  musing  slow,  I  hail 

Thy  genial  loved  return! 
For  when  thy  folding-star  arising  shews 
His  paly  circlet,  at  his  warning  lamp 

The  tragrant  hours,  and  elves 

Who  slept  in  buds  the  day, 


36  TO  PEACE. 

And  many  a  nymph  who  wreathes  hor  brows  with  sedge, 
And  sheds  the  freshening  dew,  and,  lovelier  still. 

The  pensive  Pleasures  sweet, 

Prepare  thy  shadowy  car. 

Then  let  me  rove  some  wild  and  heathy  scene, 
Or  find  some  ruin  'midst  its  dreary  dells, 

Whose  walls  more  awful  nod 

By  thy  religious  gleams. 
Or,  if  chill  blust'ring  winds,  or  driving  rain, 
Prevent  my  willing  feet,  be  mine  the  hut, 

That,  from  the  mountain's  side, 

Views  wilds  and  swelling  floods, 
And  hamlets  brown,  and  dim-discover'd  spires, 
And  hears  their  simple  bell,  and  marks  o'er  all 

Thy  dewy  fingers  draw 

The  gradual  dusky  veil. 

While  Spring  shall  pour  his  showers,  as  oft  he  wont, 
And  bathe  thy  breathing  tresses,  meekest  Eve  ! 

While  Summer  loves  to  sport 

Beneath  thy  lingering  light : 
While  sallow  Autumn  fills  thy  lap  with  leaves; 
Or  Winter,  yelling  through  the  troublous  air, 

Affrights  thy  shrinking  train, 

And  rudely  rends  thy  robes  : 
So  long,  regardful  of  thy  quiet  rule, 
Shall  Fancy,  Friendship,  Science,  smiling  Peace, 

Thy  gentlest  influence  own, 
And  love  thy  favourite  name  ! 


TO  PEACE. 

O  THOU  !  who  badest  thy  turtles  bear 
Swift  from  his  grasp  thy  golden  hair, 
And  sought'st  thy  native  skies; 


THE  MANNERS.  37 

When  War,  by  vultures  drawn  from  far, 
To  Britain  bent  his  iron  car, 
And  bade  his  storms  arise! 

Tired  of  his  rude  tyrannic  sway, 
Our  youth  shall  fix  some  festive  day, 

His  sullen  shrines  to  burn : 
But  thou,  who  hear'st  the  turning  spheres, 
What  sounds  may  charm  thy  partial  ears, 

And  gain  thy  blest  return  ! 

O  Peace  !  thy  injur'd  robes  up-bindT 
O  rise,  and  leave  not  one  behind 

Of  all  thy  beamy  train : 
The  British  lion,  goddess  sweet. 
Lies  stretch 'd  on  earth  to  kiss  thy  feet, 

And  own  thy  holier  reign. 

Let  others  court  thy  transient  smile, 
But  come  to  grace  thy  western  isle. 

By  warlike  Honour  led ; 
And,  while  around  her  ports  rejoice. 
While  all  her  sons  adore  thy  choice, 

With  him  for  ever  wed  ! 


THE  MANNERS. 

FAREWELL,  for  clearer  ken  design'd. 
The  dim-discover'd  tracts  of  mind  ; 
Truths  which,  from  action's  paths  retired. 
My  silent  search  in  vain  required  ! 
No  more  my  sail  that  deep  explores, 
No  more  I  search  those  magic  shores. 
What  regions  part  the  world  of  soul, 
Or  whence  thy  streams,  Opinion,  roll : 


3S  THE  MANNERS. 

If  e'ei  I  round  such  fairy  field, 

Some  power  impart  the  spear  and  shield, 

At  which  the  wizard  Passions  fly, 

By  which  the  giant  Follies  die  ! 

Farewell  the  porch,  whose  roof  is  seen, 
Arch'd  with  th'  enlivening  olive's  green  : 
Where  Science,  prank'd  in  tissued  vest, 
By  Reason,  Pride,  and  Fancy  drest, 
Comes  like  a  bride,  so  trim  array'd, 
To  wed  with  Doubt  in  Plato's  shade! 

Youth  of  the  quick  uncheated  sight, 
Thy  walks,  Observance,  more  invite  ! 
O  thou,  who  lov'st  that  ampler  range,, 
Where  life's  wide  prospects  round  thee  change, 
And,  with  her  mingled  sons  allied, 
Throw'st  the  prattling  page  aside, 
To  me  in  converse  sweet  impart, 
To  read  hi  man  the  native  heart, 
To  learn,  where  Science  sure  is  found, 
From  Nature  as  she  lives  around  : 
And,  gazing  oft  her  mirror  true, 
By  turns  each  shifting  image  view! 
Till  meddling  Art's  officious  lore 
Reverse  the  lessons  taught  before  j 
Alluring  from  a  safer  rule, 
To  dream  in  her  enchanted  school ; 
Thou,  Heav'n,  whate'er  of  great  we  boast, 
Hast  blest  this  social  science  most. 

Retiring  hence  to  thoughtful  cell, 
As  Fancy  breathes  her  potent  spell. 
Not  vain  she  finds  the  charmfui  task, 
In  pageant  quaint,  in  motley  mask; 
Behold,  before  her  musing  eyes 
The  countless  Manners  round  her  rise; 


THE  MAVNKRS.  39 

While,  ever  varying  as  they  pass, 
To  some  Contempt  applies  her  glass  : 
With  these  the  white-rob'd  maids  combine, 
And  those  the  laughing  Satyrs  join  ! 
But  who  it  he  whom  now  she  views, 
In  robe  of  wild  contending  hues? 
Thou  by  the  Passions  nursed  ;  I  greet 
The  comic  sock  that  binds  thy  feet! 
O  Humour,  thou  whose  name  is  known 
To  Britain's  favoured  isle  alone  : 
Me  too  amidst  thy  band  admit ; 
There  where  the  young  eyed  healthful  Wit 
(Whose  jewels  in  his  crisped  hair 
,      Are  placed  each  other's  beams  to  share), 
Whom  no  delights  from  thee  divide 
In  laughter  loosed,  attends  thy  side  ! 

By  old  Miletus,*  who  so  long 
Has  ceased  his  love-inwoven  song ; 
By  all  you  taught  the  Tuscan  maids, 
In  changed  Italia's  modern  shades  ; 
By  hiin.t  whose  knight's  distinguish'd  name, 
Refin'd  a  nation's  lust  of  fame  ; 
Whose  tales  e'en  now,  with  echoes  sweet, 
Castilia's  Moorish  hills  repeat : 
Or  him.t  whom  Seine's  blue  nymphs  deplore. 
In  watchet  weeds,  on  Gallia's  shore ; 
Who  drew  the  sad  Sicilian  maid, 
By  virtues  in  her  sire  betray 'd  : 

O  Nature  boon,  from  whom  proceed 
Each  forceful  thought,  each  prompted  deed  j 
If  but  from  thee  I  hope  to  feel, 
On  all  my  heart  imprint  thy  seal ! 

•  Alluding  lo  the  Milesian  Tale*,  tome  of  the  earliest  romance.. 

I  Cervaorc*. 

1  Monvieur  Le  Saite,  imthor  of  ll»-  ticotniurtble  Adventure*  of 
QU  Bid*  du  s.iutilUi.c,  11  ho  dii-il  in  I'aris  in  Ibe  ji  ar  17 '.5. 


40  T1IK  PASSIONS. 

Let  some  retreating  Cynic  find 

Those  oft-turn'd  scrolls  I  leave  behind, 

The  Sports  and  I  this  hour  agree, 

To  rove  thy  scene  full  world  with  thee ! 


THE    PASSIONS. 

AN  ODE  FOR  MUSIC. 

WHEN  Music,  heavenly  maid,  was  young, 
While  yet  in  early  Greece  she  sung, 
The  Passions  oft,  to  hear  her  shell, 
Throng'd  around  her  magic  cell, 
Exulting,  trembling,  raging,  fainting, 
Possest  beyond  the  M use's  painting; 
By  turns  they  felt  the  glowing  mind 
Distnrb'd,  delighted,  raised,  refined  : 
'Till  once,  'tis  said,  when  all  were  fired, 
Fill'd  with  fury,  rapt,  inspired, 
From  the  supporting  myrtles  round 
They  snatch'd  her  instruments  of  sound, 
And,  as  they  oft  had  heard  apart 
Sweet  1<  ssons  of  her  forceful  art, 
Each,  for  Madness  ruled  the  hour, 
Would  prove  his  own  expressive  power. 

First  Fear  his  hand,  its  skill  to  try, 
Amid  the  chords  bewilder'd  laid. 

And  back  recoil'd,  he  knew  not  why, 
E'en  at  the  sound  himself  had  made. 

Next  Anger  rush'd,  his  eves  on  fire, 
In  lightnings  own'd  his  secret  stings; 

In  one  rude  clash  he  struck  the  lyre. 

And  swept  with  hurried  hand  the  strings. 


THE  PASSIONS.  41 

With  woeful  measures  *-an  Despair — 
Low  solemn  sounds  his  grief  beguiled, 

A  sullen,  strange,  and  mingled  air, 
Twas  sad  by  fits,  by  starts  'twas  wild. 

But  thou,  O  Hope !  with  eyes  so  fair, 
What  was  thy  delighted  measure? 
Still  it  whisper'd  promised  pleasure, 
And  bade  the  lovely  scenes  at  distance  hail ! 

Still  would  her  touch  the  strain  prolong, 
And  from  the  rocks,  the  woods,  the  vale, 

She  callM  on  Echo  still  through  all  the  song; 
And  where  her  sweetest  theme  che  chose, 
A  soft  responsive  voice  was  heard  at  every  close, 
And  Hope  enchanted  smiled,  and  waved  her  golden 
hair. 

And  longer  had  she  sacg. — but,  with  a  frown, 

Revenge  impatient  rose ; 
He  threw  his  blood-stain'ii  sword  in  thunder  down; 

And,  with  a  withering  look, 

The  war-denouncing  trumpet  took, 
And  blew  a  blast  so  loud  and  dread, 
Were  ne'er  prophetic  sounds  so  full  of  woe ! 

And  ever  and  anon  he  beat 

The  doubling  drum  with  furious  heat ; 
And  though  sometimes,  each  dreary  pause  between, 

Dejected  Pity,  at  his  side, 

Her  soul-subduing  voice  applied, 
Yet  stil!  he  kept  his  wild  unalter'd  mien, 
While  each  strain'd  ball  of  sight  seem'd  bursting  from 
his  head. 

Thy  numbers,  Jealousy,  to  nought  were  fix'd, 

Sad  proof  of  thy  distressful  state! 
Of  differing  themes  the  veering  song  was  mix'd, 

And  now  ii  courted  Love,  now  raving  call'd  on  Hate 

d 


42  THIS  PASSIONS. 

With  eyes  upraised,  as  one  inspired, 
Pale  Melancholy  sat  retired  ; 
And  from  her  wild  scqnester'd  scat, 
In  notes  by  distance  made  more  sweet, 
Pour'd  through  the  mellow  horn  her  pensive  soul  : 
And,  dashing  soft  from  rocks  around, 
Bubbling  runnels  join'd  the  sound; 
Through  glades  and  glooms  the  mingled  measure  stole, 
Or  o'er  some  haunted  streams  with  fond  delay, 
Round  an  holy  calm  diffusing, 
Love  of  peace  and  loneVy  musing, 
In  hollow  murmurs  died  away. 

But  O  !  how  alter'd  was  its  sprif  htlier  tone  ! 
When  Cheerfulness,  a  nymph  of  healthiest  hue, 

Her  bow  across  her  shoulders  flung, 
Her  buskins  gemm'd  with  morning  dew, 

Blew  an  inspiring  air  that  dale  and  thicket  rung, 
The  hunter's  call,  to  Faun  and  Dryad  known. 
The  oak-crown'd  Sisters,  and  their  chaste-eyed  Queen, 
Satyrs  and  Sylvan  boys  were  seen, 
Peeping  from  forth  their  alleys  green; 
Brown  Exercise  rejoiced  to  hear, 
And  Sport  leapt  up,  and  seized  his  beechen  spear 

Last  came  Joy's  ecstatic  trial ; 

He  with  vain  crown  advancing, 
First  to  the  lively  pipe  his  hand  addrest; 
But  soon  he  saw  the  brisk  awakening  viol, 

Whose  sweet  entrancing  voice  he  loved  the  best. 

They  would  have  thought  who  heard  the  strain, 

They  saw  in  Tempe's  vale  her  native  maids, 

Amidst  the  festal  sounding  shades, 

To  some  unwearied  minstrel  dancing; 
While,  as  his  flying  fingers  kiss'd  the  strings, 

Love  framed  with  Mirth  a  gay  fantastic  round; 

Loose  were  her  tresses  seen,  her  zone  unbound; 


THE  PASSIONS.  43 

And  he,  amidst  his  frolic  play, 

As  if  be  would  the  charming  air  repay, 

Shook  thousand  odours  from  his  dewy  wing*. 

O  Music!  sphere-descended  maid, 

Friend  of  Pleasure,  Wisdom's  aid  ! 

Why,  goddess,  why,  to  us  denied, 

Lay'st  thou  thy  ancient  lyre  aside? 

As,  in  that  loved  Athenian  bower, 

You  learn'd  an  all-commanding  power, 

Thy  mimic  soul,  O  nymph  endearM  I 

Can  well  recall  what  then  it  heard. 

Where  is  thy  native  simple  heart, 

Devote  to  Virtue,  Fancy,  Art? 

Arise,  as  in  that  elder  time. 

Warm,  energetic,  chaste,  sublime! 

Thy  wondcrsj  in  that  god-like  age, 

Fill  thy  recording  Sister's  page — 

•Tis  said,  and  I  believe  the  tale, 

Thy  humblest  reed  could  more  prevail, 

Had  more  of  strength,  diviner  rage. 

Than  all  which  charms  this  laggard  age; 

E'en  a  1  at  once  together  found 

Cecilia's  mingled  world  of  sound — 

O  bid  our  vain  endeavours  cease, 

Revive  the  just  designs  of  Greece  : 

Return  in  all  thy  simple  state ! 

Confirm  the  tales  her  sons  relate  1 


AN  EPISTLE, 

ADDRESSED  TO  SIR  THOMAS  HANMER, 
On  his  Edition  of  $hakspe(ire'$  Work*. 

WHILE,  born  to  bring  the  Muse's  happier  days, 
A  patriot's  baud  protects  a  pout'*  lays, 
B 


44  AN  KI'ISTLK  TO 

While  nursed  by  you  she  sees  her  myrtles  bloom 

Green  and  unwither'd  o'er  his  hononr'd  tomb; 

Excase  her  doubts,  if  yet  she  fears  to  tell 

What  secret  transports  in  her  bosom  swell : 

With  conscious  awe  she  hears  the  ciitic's  fame, 

And  blushing  hides  her  wreath  at  Shakspeare's  name. 

Hard  was  the  lot  those  injured  strains  endured, 

Unown'd  by  Science,  and  by  years  obscured: 

Fair  Fancy  wept;  and  echoing  sighs  confess'd 

A  fixt  despair  in  every  tuneful  breast. 

Not  with  more  grief  th'  afflicted  swains  appear, 

When  wintry  wind's  deform  the  plenteous  year; 

When  lingering  frosts  the  ruiu'd  seats  invade, 

Where  Peace  resorted,  and  the  Graces  play'd. 

Each  rising  art  by  just  gradation  moves, 
Toil  builds  on  toil,  and  age  on  age  improves: 
The  Muse  alone  unequal  dealt  her  rage, 
And  graced  with  noblest  pouip  her  earliest  stage. 
Preserved  through  time,  the  speaking  scenes  impart 
Each  changeful  wish  of  Phaedra's  tortured  heart: 
Or  paint  the  curse  that  mark'd  the  •Theban's  reign, 
A  bed  incestuous,  and  a  father  slain. 
With  kind  concern  our  pitying  eyes  o'erflow, 
Trace  the  sad  tale,  and  own  another's  woe. 

To  Rome  removed,  with  wit  secure  to  please, 
The  coaiic  sisters  kept  their  native  ease  : 
With  jealous  fear  declining  Greece  beheld 
Her  own  Vlcnander's  art  almost  cxcell'd! 
But  every  Mine  essay 'd  to  raise  in  vain 
Some  iabour'd  rival  of  her  tragic  strain; 
liyssus'  laurels,  though  transferr'd  witli  toil, 
Droop'd  theii  fair  leaves,  nor  knew  th'  unfriendly  soil. 

As  Arls  expired,  resistless  Dulness  rose; 
Goths,  priests,  or  Vandals, — all  were  Learning's  foes. 

*  Tin:  CE'lipiif  ol  Sophocles. 


SIR  THOMAS  HANMKR.  46 

Till*  Juli  is  first  recall'd  each  exiled  maid. 
And  Cosnr.o  own'd  them  in  th'  Etrurian  shade: 
Then  deeply  skill'd  in  Love's  engaging  theme, 
The  soft  Provencal  pass'd  to  Arno's  stream  : 
With  graceful  ease  the  wanton  lyre  he  strung, 
Sweet  flow'd  the  lays — but  love  was  all  he  sung. 
The  gay  description  could  not  fail  to  move ; 
For,  led  by  Nature,  all  are  friends  to  love. 

But  Heaven,  still  various  in  its  works,  decreed 
The  perfect  boast  of  time  should  last  succeed. 
The  beauteous  union  must  appear  at  length, 
Of  Tuscan  fancy,  and  Athenian  strength  : 
One  greater  Muse  Kliza's  reign  adorn, 
And  e'en  a  Shakspeare  to  her  fame  be  born ! 

Yet,  ah  !  so  bright  her  morning's  opening  ray, 
In  vain  our  Britain  hoped  an  equal  day  ! 
No  second  growth  the  western  isle  could  bear, 
At  once  exhausted  with  too  rich  a  year. 
Too  nicely  J:>nson  knew  the  critic's  part; 
Nature  in  him  was  almost  lost  in  art. 
Of  softer  mould  the  gentle  Fletcher  came, 
Thn  next  in  order,  as  the  next  in  name. 
With  plcas'd  attention  'midst  his  scenes  we  find 
Each  glowing  thought  that  warms  the  female  mind  ; 
Each  melting  sigh,  and  every  lender  tear, 
The  lover's  wishes,  and  the  virgin's  fear. 
Hist  every  strain  the  Smiles  and  Graces  own  : 
But  stronger  Shakspeare  felt  for  man  alone  : 
Drawn  by  his  pen,  our  ruder  passions  stand 
Th'  nnrivall'd  picture  of  his  early  hand.  • 

jWith  gradual  steps,  and  slow,  cxacter  France 
Saw  Art's  fair  empire  o'er  her  shores  advance  : 

*  Julius  II.  the  immediate  predecessor  of  l«o  X. 
t  Their  characters  ;nv  thus  distinguish!  d  l,y  Mr.  I)r>drn. 
t  About  the  time  of  Shakspe.ire,  Ihe  ]><(••  ll.ir.i    was  in  crmi  repute 
lu  frtacc.    He  wrote,  according  to  1-oiiuurili.,  >.x  hundred  pUyw 


4«  AN  EPISTLE  TO 

By  length  of  toil  a  bright  perfection  knew, 
Correctly  bold,  and  just  in  all  she  drew; 
Till  late  Corneillc,  with  *Lucan's  spirit  fired, 
Breathed  the  free  strain,  as  Koine  and  lie  inspired: 
And  classic  Judgment  gain'd  to  sweet  Racine 
The  temperate  strength  of  Maro's  chaster  line. 

But  wilder  far  the  British  laurel  spread, 
And  wreaths  loss  artful  crown  our  poet's  head. 
Yi  t  he  alone  to  every  scene  could  give 
Th'  historian's  truth,  and  hid  the  manners  live. 
Waked  at  his  call,  I  view  with  glad  surprise 
Majestic  forms  of  mighty  monarchs  rise. 
There  Henry's  trumpets  spread  their  loud  alarms, 
And  laurcll'd  Conquest  waits  her  hero's  arms.  , 
Here  gentle  Edward  claims  a  pitying  sigh, 
Scarce  horn  to  honours,  and  so  soon  to  die  ! 
Yet  shall  thy  throne,  unhappy  infant!  bring 
Xo  beam  of  comfort  to  the  guilty  king  : 
Thet  time  shall  come,  when  Glo'ster's  heart  shall  bleed 
fn  life's  last  hours,  with  horror  of  the  deed  : 
When  dreary  visions  shall  at  last  present 
Thy  vengeful  image  in  the  midnight  tentj 
Thy  hand  unseen  the  secret  deaih  shall  bear, 
Blunt  the  weak  sword,  and  break  th' oppressive  spear. 

Where'er  we  turn,  by  Fancy  charm'd,  we  find 
Some  sweet  illusion  of  the  cheated  mind. 
Oft,  wild  of  wing,  she  calls  the  soul  to  rove 
With  humbler  Nature  in  the  rural  grove; 
Where  swains  contented  own  the  quiet  scene, 
And  twilight  fairies  tread  the  circled  green  : 
Dress'd  by  her  hand  the  woods  and  valleys  smile, 
And  spring  diffusive  decks  th'  enchanted  isle. 

The  French  potts  after  him  applied  themselves  in  general  tothe  cor- 
rect iiiiproit-nieiil  of  ihe  sia^e,  which  was  almost  totally  disregarded 
by  those  i>f  our  own  country,  Jonson  excepted. 

*  The  favourite  author  of  the  elder  Curneille. 
1  Tempus  erit  Tamo,  magno  cilr.i  optaveril  eoiptuiu 
iBtactuui  Halluita.  ,vc. 


SIR  THOM-AS  UANMBR.  47 

O  more  than  all  in  powerful  genius  blest, 
Come,  take  thine  empire  o'er  the  willing  breast! 
Whate'er  the  wounds  this  youthful  heart  shall  feel. 
Thy  songs  support  me,  and  thy  morals  heal ! 
There  every  thought  the  poet's  warmth  may  raise, 
There  native  music  dwells  in  all  the  lays. 
Oh,  might  some  verse  with  happiest  skill  persuade 
Expressive  Picture  to  adopt  thine  aid  ! 
What  wondrous  draughts  might  rise  from  every  page 
What  other  Raphaels  charm  a  distant  age  ! 

Methinks  e'en  now  I  view  some  free  design, 
Where  breathing  Nature  lives  in  every  line: 
Chaste  and  subdued  the  modest  lights  decay, 
Steal  into  shades,  and  mildly  melt  away. 
— And  see,  where  *Antony,  in  tears  approved. 
Guards  the  pale  relics  of  the  chief  he  loved  : 
O'er  the  cold  corse  the  warrior  seems  to  bend, 
Deep  sunk  in  grief,  and  mourns  his  murder'd  friend! 
Still  as  they  press  he  calls  on  all  around, 
Lifts  the  torn  rote,  and  points  the  bleeding  wound. 

But  v/ho  fis  he,  whose  brows  exalted  bear 
A  wrath  impatient,  and  a  fiercer  air? 
A  wake  to  all  that  injured  worth  can  feel, 
On  his  own  Rome  he  turns  th'  avenging  steel: 
Yet  shall  not  war's  insatiate  fury  fall 
(So  Heaven  ordains  it)  on  the  destin'd  wall. 
See  the  fond  mother,  'midst  the  plaintive  train, 
Hang  on  his  knees,  and  prostrate  on  the  plain! 
Touch'd  to  the  soul,  in  vain  he  si-rives  to  hide 
The  sou's  affection  in  the  Roman's  pride  : 
O'er  all  the  man  conflicting  passions  rise, 
Rage  grasps  the  sword,  while  Pity  melts  the  eye*. 

Thus,  generous  Critic,  as  thy  bard  inspires, 
The  sister  Arts  shall  nurse  their  drooping  fires; 

*  Sec  tl*  tiMu'eily  of  Julias  Ci»ar. 
t  Coriolnm.    St-e  Mr.  ^|><-mt-»  dialogue  »u  '.lie  Odjs<ej. 


48  DIRGK  IN  CYM  Jit  LINE. 

Each  from  his  scenes  her  stems  alternate  bring. 
Blend  the  fair  tints,  or  vake  the  vocal  string: 
Those  Sibyl-leaves,  tho  sport  of  every  wind 
(For  poets  ever  were  a  careless  kind), 
By  thoe  disposed,  no  faither  toil  demand, 
But,  just  to  Nature,  own  thy  forming  band. 

So  spread  o'er  Greece,  th'  harmonious  whole  un- 
known, 

Even  Homer's  numbers  charm'd  by  parts  alone. 
Their  own  Ulyssos  scarce  had  wander'd  more, 
J?y  winds  and  waters  cast  on  every  shore : 
When,  rais'd  by  Fate,  some  former  Haniner  join'd 
Each  beauteous  image  of  the  boundless  mind  : 
And  bade,  like  thee,  his  Athens  ever  claim 
A  fond  alliance  with  the  Poet's  name 


DIRGE  IN  CYMBELINE. 

Sung  by  Guiderus  and  Arviragut  over  Fidel*, 
supposed  to  be  dead. 

To  fair  Fidcle's  grassy  tomb 

Soft  maids  and  village  hinds  shall  bring 
Each  opening  sweet,  of  earliest  bloom, 

And  rifle  all  the  breathing  Spring. 

No  wailing  ghost  shall  dare  appear 
To  vex  with  shrieks  this  quiet  grove  ; 

But  shepherd  lads  assemble  here, 
And  melting  virgins  own  their  love. 

No  wither'd  witch  shall  here  be  seen, 
N  j  goblins  lead  their  nightly  crew  ; 

The  female  fays  shall  haunt  the  green. 
And  dress  thy  grave  with  pearly  dew! 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THOMSON.          49 

The  red-breast  oft  at  evening  hours 

Shall  kindly  lend  his  little  aid, 
With  hoary  moss,  and  gather'd  flowers, 

To  deck  the  ground  where  thou  art  laid. 

When  howling  winds,  and  beating  rain, 

In  tempests  shake  the  sylvan  cell; 
Or  midst  the  chase,  on  every  plain, 

The  tender  thought  on  thee  shall  dwell: 

Each  lonely  scene  shall  thee  restore ; 

For  thee  the  tear  be  duly  shed  ; 
Beloved,  till  life  can  charm  no  more  ; 

And  mourn'd,  till  Pity's  self  be  dead. 


ODE 

ON 

THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  THOMSON. 

The  Scene  of  the  following  Stanxas  it  supposed  to 
lie  on  the  Thames,  near  Richmond. 

I. 

IN  yonder  grave  a  Druid  lies, 

Where  slowly  winds  the  stealing  wave! 

The  year's  best  sweets  shall  duteous  rise, 
To  deck  its  poet's  sylvan  grave  ! 

II. 

In  yon  deep  bed  ot  whisp'ring  reeds, 

His  airy  harp*  shall  now  be  laid ; 
That  he,  whose  heart  in  sorrow  bleeds, 

May  love  through  life  the  soothing  shade. 

•  The  harp  of  £oliu,  of  which  *•<•  a  description  in 

Hit  Can  tie  of  Indolence. 


£0          ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THOMSON. 

III. 

Then  maids  and  youths  shall  linger  here 
And  while  its  sounds  at  distance  swell, 

Shall  sadly  seem  in  Pity's  ear 

To  hear  the  woodland  pilgrim's  knell. 

IV. 

Remembrance  oft  shall  haunt  the  shore 

When  Thames  in  summer  wreaths  is  dresi| 
And  oft  suspend  the  dashing  oar 
To  bid  his  gentle  spirit  rest ! 

V. 

And  oft  as  Ease  and  Health  retire 

To  breezy  lawn,  or  forest  deep, 
The  friend  shall  view  yon  whitcningt  spire, 

And  'mid  the  varied  landscape  weep. 

VI. 

But  thou,  who  own'st  that  earthly  bed, 
Ah  !  what  will  every  dirge  avail ! 

Or  tears  which  Love  and  Pity  shed, 
That  mourn  beneath  the  gliding  sail  ! 

VII. 

Yet  lives  there  one,  whose  heedless  eye 

Shall  scorn  thy  pale  shrine  glirnm'ring  near; 

With  him, sweet  bard,  may  Fancy  die, 
And  Joy  desert  the  blooming  year. 

VIII. 

But  thou,  lorn  stream,  whose  sullen  tide 
No  sedge-crown'd  sisters  now  attend, 

Now  waft  me  from  the  green  hill's  side, 
Whose  cold  turf  hides  the  buried  friend  ! 

t  Richmond  Church. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THOMSON.          51 

IX. 

And  see,  the  fairy  valleys  fade, 

Dun  Night  has  veil'd  the  solemn  view! 

Yet  once  again,  dear  parted  shade, 
Meek  Nature's  child,  again  adieu  '. 

X. 

•The  genial  meads,  assign'd  to  bless 
Thy  life,  shall  mourn  thy  early  doom  ! 

There  hinds  and  shepherd  girls  shall  dress 
With  simple  hands  thy  rural  tomb. 

XI. 
Long,  long,  thy  stone  and  pointed  clay 

Shall  melt  the  musing  Briton's  eyes : 
'  O  vales,  and  wild  woods!'  shall  he  say, 

*  In  yonder  grave  your  Druid  lie*  !' 


VERSES 
Written  on  a  Paper  which  contained  a  Piece 

of  Bride  cake. 
YE  curious  hands,  that,  hid  from  vulgar  eyes, 

By  search  profane  shall  find  this  hallow'd  cake, 
With  virtue's  awe  forbear  the  sacred  prize, 

Nor  dare  a  theft  for  love  and  pity's  sake  . 
This  precious  relic,  form'd  by  magic  power, 

Beneath  the  shepherd's  haunted  pillow  laid, 
Was  meant  by  love  to  charm  the  silent  hour, 

The  secret  present  of  a  matchless  maid. 
The  Cyprian  queen,  at  Hymen's  fond  request, 

Each  nice  ingredient  chose  with  happiest  art; 
Fears,  sighs,  and  wishes  of  th'  enamour'd  breast, 

And  pains  that  please,  are  ruixt  in  every  part. 

•  Mr.  Thomson  resided  in  the  ndghbonrhood  o 
*ume  lime  before  bis  clealh. 


52  ON  THE  SUPERSTITIONS 

With  rosy  hand  the  spicy  fruit  she  brought, 
From  Paphian  hills,  and  fair  Cytherea's  isle  ; 

And  temper'd  sweet  with  these  the  melting  thought, 
The  kiss  ambrosial,  and  the  yielding  smile. 

Ambiguous  looks,  that  scorn  and  yet  relent, 
Denials  mild,  and  firm  unaher'd  truth  ; 

Reluctant  pride,  and  amorous  faint  consent, 
And  meeting  ardours,  and  exulting  youth. 

Sleep,  wayward  god  !  hath  sworn,  while  these  remain. 
With  flattering  dreams  to  dry  his  nightly  tear, 

And  cheerful  Hope,  so  oft  invoked  in  vain, 
With  fairy  songs  shall  sooth  his  pensive  ear. 

If,  bound  by  vows  to  Friendship's  gentle  side 
And  fond  of  soul,  thou  hop'st  an  equal  grace, 

If  youth  or  maid  thy  joys  and  griefs  divide, 
O,  much  entreated,  leave  this  fatal  place  ! 

Sweet  Peace,  who  long  hath  shuim'd  my  plaintive  laj. 

Consents  at  length  to  bring  me  short  delight ; 
Thy  careless  steps  may  scare  her  doves  away, 

And  grief  with  raven  note  usurp  the  night, 


AN    ODE 

OH  THE  POPULAR  SUPERSTITIONS  OF  THE 
HIGHLANDS  OF  SCOTLAND. 

I. 

HOM  E  !  thou  return'st  from  Th  ames, whose  Naiads  long 
Have  seen  thee  ling'ring  with  a  fond  delay, 
Mid  those  soft  friends,  whose  hearts  some  future  day 

Shall  melt,  perhaps,  to  hear  thy  tragic  song. 


OP  THE  SCOTS'  HIGHLANDS.  53 

Go,  not  unmindful  of  that  cordial  youth," 

Whom,  long  endear'd.thonleav'st  by  Lavant's  side; 
Together  let  us  wish  him  lasting  truth, 

And  joy  untainted,  with  his  destin'd  bride. 
Go!  nor  regardless,  while  these  numbers  boast 

My  short  lived  bliss,  forget  my  social  name ; 
But  think,  far  off,  how,  on  the  southern  coast, 

I  met  thy  friendship  with  an  equal  flame  ! 
Fresh  to  that  soil  thou  turn'st,  where  ev'ry  vale 

Shall  prompt  the  poet,  and  his  song  demand  : 
To  thee  thy  copious  subjects  ne'er  shall  fail  ; 

Thou  necd'st  but  take  thy  pencil  to  thy  hand, 

And  paint  what  all  believe,  who  own  thy  genial  land 

II. 

There  must  thou  wake  perforce  thy  Doric  quill ; 

Tis  Fancy's  land  to  which  thou  sett'st  thy  feet; 

Where  still,  'tis  said,  the  fairy  people  meet, 
Beneath  each  birken  shade,  on  mead  or  bill. 
There  each  trim  lass,  that  skims  the  milky  store, 

To  the  swart  tribes  their  creamy  bowls  allots ; 
By  night  they  sip  it  round  the  cottage-door, 

While  airy  minstrels  warble  jocund  notes. 
There,  every  herd,  by  sad  experience,  knows 

How,  wing'd  with  Fate,  their  elf-shot  arrows  fly, 
When  the  sick  ewe  her  summer  food  foregoes, 

Or,  stretch'd  on  earth,  the  heart  smit  heifers  lie. 
Such  airy  beings  awe  lh'  untiuor'd  swain  :      [neglect  t 

Nor  thou,  though  learn "d,  his  homelier  thoughts 
Let  thy  sweet  muse  the  rural  faith  sustain ; 

These  are  the  themes  of  simple,  sure  effect, 
That  add  new  conquests  to  her  boundless  reign, 
And  fill,  with  double  force,  her  heart-commanding 
strain. 

•  A  reoUeman  of  the  name  of  Barrow,  who  Introduced 
Home  to  ColUiu. 


M  ON  THE  SUPERSTITIONS 


III. 
E'en  yet  preserved,  how  often  may'st  thou  hear, 

Where  to  the  pole  the  Boreal  mountains  run, 

Taught  by  the  father  to  his  list'ning  son, 
Strange  lays,  whose  power  had  charm'd  a  Spenser's  ear 
At  ev'ry  pause,  before  thy  mind  possest, 

Old  Runic  bards  shall  seem  to  rise  around, 
With  uncouth  lyres,  in  many-colour'd  vest, 

Their  matted  hair  with  boughs  fantastic  crown'd : 
Whether  thou  bidd'st  the  well-taught  hind  repeat 

The  choral  dirge,  that  mourns  some  chieftain  brave, 
When  ev'ry  shrieking  maid  her  bosom  beat, 

And  strew'd  with  choicest  herbs  his  scented  grave  j 
Or  whether,  sitting  in  the  shepherd's  shiel,* 

Thou  hcar'st  some  sounding  tale  of  war's  alarms} 
When  at  the  bugle's  call,  with  fire  and  steel, 

The  sturdy  clans  pour'd  forth  their  brawny  swarms, 

And  hostile  brothers  met  to  prove  each  others' arms, 

IV. 

'Tis  thine,  to  sing,  how,  framing  hideous  spells, 
In  Sky's  lone  isle,  the  gifted  wizard-seer, 
Lodged  in  the  wintry  cave,  with  Fate's  fell  spear 

Or  in  the  depth  of  Uist's  dark  forest  dwells: 

How  they,  whose  sight  such  dreary  dreams  engross, 

With  their  own  visions  oft  astonish'd  droop'd. 
When,  o'er  the  wat'ry  strath  or  quaggy  moss, 

They  see  the  gliding  ghosts'  unbodied  troop; 
Or,  if  in  sports,  or  on  the  festive  green, 

Their  destined  glance  some  fated  youth  descry, 
Who  now,  perhaps,  in  lusty  vigour  seen, 

And  rosy  health,  shall  soon  lamented  die. 

•  A  summer  hut,  built  in  the  high  part  of  the  mountain*,  to  tend 
tb«ir  flocks  in  the  warm  season,  when  the  pasture  is  DM. 


OF  THE  SCOTS'  HIGHLANDS.  65 

For  them  the  viewless  forms  of  air  obey, 
Their  bidding  heed,  and  at  their  beck  repair: 

They  know  what  spirit  brews  the  stormful  day, 
And  heartless,  oft  like  moody  madness,  stare 
To  see  the  phantom  train  their  secret  work  prepare. 

V. 

'  Or  on  some  bellying  rock  that  shades  the  deep, 
•They  view  the  lurid  signs  that  cross  the  sky, 
'  Where,  in  the  west,  the  brooding  tempests  lie : 

'  And  hear  their  first,  faint,  rustling  pennons  sweep. 

'  Or  in  the  arched  cave,  where 'deep  and  dark 

*  The  broad,  unbroken  billows  heave  and  swell, 
'  In  horrid  musings  wrapt,  they  sit  to  mark 

•  The  lab'ring  moon ;  or  list  the  nightly  yell 
'  Of  that  dread  spirit,  whose  gigantic  form 

'  The  seer's  entranced  eye  can  well  survey, 
'  Through  the  dim  air  who  guides  the  driving  storm, 

'  And  points  the  wretched  bark  its  destined  prey. 
'  Or  him  who  hovers  on  his  flagging  wing 

*  O'er  the  dire  whirlpool,  that,  in  ocean's  waste, 
'  Draws  instant  down  whate'er  devoted  thing 

'  The  failing  breeze  within  its  reach  hath  placed — 

•  The  distant  seaman  hears,  and  flies  with  trembling 

haste. 

VI. 

'  Or,  if  on  land  the  fiend  exerts  his  sway, 

•  Silent  he  broods  o'er  quicksand,  bog,  or  fen, 

'  Far  from  the  shelt'ring  roof  and  haunts  of  men, 

*  When  witched  darkness  shuts  the  eye  of  day, 

*  And  shrouds  each  star  that  wont  to  cheer  the  night; 
«  Or,  if  the  drifted  sno'w  perplex  the  way, 

'With  treach'rous  gleam  he  lures  the  fated  wight, 

•  And  leads  him  flound'ring  on  and  quite  astray/ 


56  ON  THE  SUPERSTITIONS 

VII. 
To  monarchs  dear,  some  hundred  miles  astray, 

Oft  have  they  seen  Fate  give  the  fatal  Mow  ! 

The  Seer,  in  Sky,  shrick'd  as  the  Mood  did  flow, 
When  headless  Charles  warm  on  the  scaffold  lay  I 
As  Boreas  threw  her  young  Aurora  forth, 

In  the  first  year  of  the  first  George's  reign, 
And  battles  raged  in  welkin  of  the  North, 

They  inourn'd  in  air,  fell,  fell  rebellion  slain! 
And  as,  of  late,  they  joy'd  in  Preston's  fight, 

Saw,  at  sad  Falkirk,  all  their  hopes  near  crown'd  ! 
They  raved'    divining,  through  their  second  sigbt, 

Palo,  red  Culloden,  where  these  hopes  were  drown'd! 
Illustrious  William!  Britain's  guardian  name! 

One  William  saved  us  from  a  Tyrant's  stroke  ; 
He,  for  a  sceptre,  gainM  heroic  fame, 

But  thoti,  more  glorious.  Slavery's  chain  hast  broke, 
To  reign  a  private  man,  and  bow  to  Freedom's  yokel 

VIII. 
These,  too,  thou'lt  sing  !  for  well  thy  magic  muse 

Can  to  the  topmost  heaven  of  grandeur  soar  J 

Or  stoop  to  wail  the  swain  that  is  no  more  ! 
Ah,  homely  swains  !  your  homeward  steps  ne'er  lose; 

Let  not  dank  Will  mislead  you  to  the  heath; 
Dancing  in  muiky  night,  o'er  fen  and  lake, 

He  glows,  to  draw  you  downward  to  your  death, 
In  his  bewitch'd,  low,  marshy,  willow  braLe  ! 
What  though  far  off,  from  some  dark  dell  espied, 

H'is  glimmering  mazes  cheer  th'  excursive  sight. 
Yet  turn,  ye  wanderers,  turn  your  steps  aside, 

Nor  trust  the  guidance  of  that  faithless. light  j 
For  watchful,  lurking,  mid  th'  unrustliug  reed. 

At  those  murk  hours  the  wily  monster  lies, 
And  listens  oft  to  hear  the  passing  steed, 

And  frequent  round  him  rolls  his  sullen  eyes,  [prise. 
If  chance  his  savage  wrath  may  some  weak  wretch  sui 


OF  THK  SCOTS'  HIGHLANDS.  67 

IX. 

Ah,  luckless  swain!  o'er  all  unblest,  indeed  ! 

Whom  late  bewilder'd  in  the  dank,  dark  fen. 

Far  from  his  flocks,  and  smoking  hamlet,  then 
To  that  sad  spot  where  hums  the  sedgy  weed : 

On  him,  enraged,  the  fiend,  in  angry  mood. 
Shall  never  look  with  pity's  kind  concern, 

But  instant,  furious,  raise  the  whelming  flood 
O'er  its  drown'd  banks,  forbidding  all  return  ! 

Or,  if  he  meditate  his  wish'd  escape, 
To  some  dim  hill  that  seems  uprising  near, 

To  his  faint  eye,  the  grim  and  grisly  shape, 
In  all  his  terrors  clad,  shall  wild  appear.     - 

Meantime  the  wat'ry  surge  shall  round  him  rise, 
Pour'd  sudden  forth  from  ev'ry  swelling  source ! 

What  now  remains  but  tears  and  hopeless  sighs? 
His  fear  shook  limbs  have  lost  their  youthful  force, 
And  down  the  waves  he  floats,  a  pale  and  breathless 
corse ! 

X. 
For  him  in  vain  his  anxious  wife  shall  wait, 

Or  wander  forth  to  meet  him  on  his  way  ; 

For  him  in  vain  at  to-fall  of  the  day, 
His  babes  shall  linger  at  th'  unclosing  gate  I 
Ah,  ne'er  shall  he  return!    Alone,  if  night, 

Her  travell'd  limbs  in  broken  slumbers  steep ! 
With  drooping  willows  drest,  his  mournful  sprite 

Shall  visit  sad,  perchance,  her  silent  sleep: 
Then  he,  perhaps,  with  moist  and  wat'ry  hand 

Shall  fondly  seem  to  press  her  shndd'ring  cheek, 
And  with  his  blue-swolu  face  before  her  stand, 

And,  shiv'ring  cold,  these  piteous  accents  speak  : 
'  Pursue,  dear  wife,  thy  daily  toils,  pursue, 

At  dawn  or  dusk,  industrious  as  before; 
Nor  e'er  of  me  one  helpless  thought  renew, 
D2 


68  ON  THE  SUPERSTITIONS 

While  I  lie  welt'ring  on  the  osier'ci  shore,       [morel 
Drown'd  by  the  Kelpie's*  wrath,  nor  e'er  shall  aid  thec 

XI. 

Unbounded  is  thy  range;  with  varied  skill         [spring 
Thy  Muse  may,  like  those  feath'ry  tribes  which 
From  their  rude  rocks,  extend  her  skirting  wing 

Round  the  moist  marge  of  each  cold  Hebrid  isle, 
To  that  hoar  pilet  which  still  its  ruin  shews  : 

In  whose  small  vaults  a  pigmy-folk  is  found, 

Whose  bones  the  delver  with  his  spade  upthrows, 

And  culls  them,  wond'ring,  from  the  hallow'd  ground! 

Or  thitherj  where  beneath  the  show'ry  west, 
The  mighty  kings  of  three  fair  realms  are  laid  : 

Once  foes,  perhaps,  together  now  they  rest, 
No  slaves  revere  them,  and  no  wars  invade: 

Yet  frequent  now,  at  midnight's  solemn  hour, 
The  rifted  mounds  their  yawning  cells  unfold. 

And  forth  the  monarchs  stalk  with  sov 'reign  pow'r, 
In  pageant  robes,  and  wreath'd  with  sheeny  go'd, 
And  on  their  twilight  tombs  aerial  council  hold 

XII. 

But,  oh!  o'er  all,  forget  not  Kilda's  race, 

On  whose  bleak  rock«,  which  brave  the  wasting  tide* 
Fair  Nature's  daughter,  Virtue,  yet  abides. 

Go  !  just  as  they,  their  blameless  manners  trace ! 
Then  to  my  ear  transmit  some  gentle  song, 

Of  those  whose  lives  are  yet  sincere  and  plain, 
Their  bounded  walks  the  rugged  cliffs  along. 

And  all  their  prospect  but  the  wintry  main. 

*  The  water-fli'Cd. 

t  One  of  the  Hebrides  It  railed  The  Isle-  of  Pigmies,  where,  it  U 
repnrtrd,  thai  several  inini.Uun  hones  of  the  human  specie*  have  beea 
due  up  in  Hie  ruins  of  tl.e  rhapei  there. 

{  Itolinkill,  one  of  the  Hehri  les,  where  n.-ir  siviy  of  the  ancient 
Scottish,  Irish,  and  Norwegian  kiugt  are  interred. 


Of  THE  SCOTS    HIGHLANDS.  59 

With  sparing  tcni^i 'ranee  at  the  needful  time, 
They  drain  the  scented  spring:  or,  hunger  prest, 

Along  th"  Atlantic  rock,  undreading,  climb, 
And  of  its  eggs  despoil  the  solan's*  nest. 

Thus,  blest  in  primal  innocence  they  live, 
Sufficed,  and  happy  with  that  frugal  fare 

Which  tasteful  toil  and  hourly  danger  give. 
Hard  is  their  shallow  soil,  and  bleak  and  bare  ; 
Nor  ever  vernal  bee  was  heard  to  murmur  there ! 

XIII. 

Nor  need'st  thou  blush  that  such  false  themes  engage 

Thy  gentle  mind,  of  fairer  stores  possest ; 

For  not  alone  they  tmich  the  village  breast, 
But  fill'd,  in  elder  (ime,  th'his'oric  page. 

There,  Shaksoear»'-i  self,  with  «iv'ry  garland  crown'd, 
Flew  to  those  fairy  dimes  nis  fancy  sheen, 

fn  reusing  hour ;  his  wayward  sisters  found, 
And  with  their  terrors  drest  the  magic  scene. 

From  them  he  Rung,  when,  'mid  his  bold  design, 
Before  the  Scot,  afflicted  and  aghast ! 

The  shadowy  kings  of  Banquo's  fated  line 
Through  the  dark  cave  in  gleamy  pageant  past. 

Proceed!  nor  quit  the  tales  which,  simply  told. 
Could  once  so  well  my  answ'ring  bosom  pierce  ; 

Proceed,  in  forceful  sounds,  and  colour  bold, 
The  native  legends  of  thy  land  rehearse  : 
To  inch  adapt  thy  lyre,  and  suit  thy  powerful  verse. 

XIV. 

In  scenes  like  these,  which,  daring  to  depart 
From  sober  truth,  are  still  to  Nature  true, 
And  call  forth  fresh  delight  to  Fancy's  view, 

Th' heroic  Muse  employ'd  her  Tasso's  art! 

•  Aa  aquatic  bird,  on  the  r;rfr«  of  which  tlir  Inhabitant,  of  St.  K  IkU 
soother  of  the  Hebrides,  chiefly  subsist. 

•  P 


t)0  ON  THE  SUPERSTITIONS,  &c. 

How  have  I  trembled,  when,  at  Tancred's  stroke, 
Its  gushing  blood  the  gaping  cy press  pour'd! 

When  each  live  plant  with  mortal  accents  spoke, 
And  the  wild  blast  upheav'd  the  vanish'd  sword! 

How  have  I  sat,  when  piped  the  pensive  wind, 
To  hear  his  harp  by  British  Fairfax  strung ! 

Prevailing  poet !  whose  undoubting  mind 
Believ'd  the  magic  wonders  which  he  sung  ! 

Hence,  at  each  sound,  imagination  glows  ! 
Hence,  at  each  picture,  vivid  life  starts  here! 

Hence  his  warm  lay  with  •oftegt  sweetness  flows! 
Melting  it  flows,  pure,  murm'ring,  strong  and  clear, 
And  fills  th'impassion'd  heart,  and  wins  th' harmo- 
nious ear ! 

XV. 

All  hail !  ye  scenes,  that  o'er  my  saul  prevail ! 

Ye  splrnvld  friths  and  lakes,  which,  far  away, 

Are  by  smooth  Annan*  nll'd,  or  past'ral  Tay,t 
Or  Don'sJ  romantic  springs,  at  distance,  hail! 
Tiie  time  shall  come,  when  I,  perhaps,  may  tread 

Your  lowly  glens,  o'erhung  with  spreading  broom  ; 
Or  o'er  your  stretching  heaths,  by  Fancy  led  ; 

Or  o'er  your  mountains  creep  in  awful  gloom  ? 
Then  will  I  dress  once  more  the  faded  bower, 

Where  Jonson§  sat  in  Drummond's  classic  shade  ; 
1  Or  crop,  from  Tiviotdale,  each  lyric  flower, 

And  mourn,  on  Yarrow's  banks,  where  Willy's  laid! 
Meantime,  ye  pow'rs  that  on  the  plains  which  bore 

The  cordial  youth,  on  Lothian's  plains,  attend  ! — 
Where'er  Home  dwells,  on  hill,  or  lowly  moor, 

To  him  I  love  your  kind  protection  lend, 

And,  touch'd  with  love  like  mine,  preserve  my  ab- 
sent friend ! 

*  t  J  Three  rivers  in  Scotland. 

i  Ben  Jonson  paid  a  visit  on  foot,  in  1619,  to  the  Scotch  poet  Drum- 
mood,  at  his  teal  of  Hawtooruden,  within  lour  mile*  of  Edinburgh. 


THE 

POETICAL    WORKS 

OP 

THOMAS    GRAY. 


THE  LIFE 
or 

THOMAS    GRAY. 


THOMAS  GRAY, the  son  of  Mr.  Philip  Gray,  a  scrivener 
of  London,  was  born  in  Cornhill,  November  26,  1716. 
His  grammatical  education  he  received  at  Eton  under 
the  care  of  Mr.  Antrobus,  hit  mother's  brother,  then 
assistant  to  Dr.  George ;  and  when  he  left  school,  in 
1734,  entered  a  pensioner  at  Peterhouse  in  Cambridge. 

The  transition  from  the  school  to  the  college  is,  to 
most  young  scholars,  the  time  from  which  they  date 
their  years  of  manhood,  liberty,  and  happiness ;  but 
Gray  seems  to  have  been  very  little  delighted  with 
academical  qualifications ;  he  liked  at  Cambridge  nei- 
ther the  mode  of  life  nor  the  fashion  of  study,  and 
lived  sullenly  on  to  the  time  when  his  attendance  on 
lectures  was  no  longer  required.  As  he  intended  to 
profess  the  common  law,  he  took  no  degree. 

When  he  had  been  at  Cambridge  about  fire  years, 
Mr.  Horace  Walpole,  whose  friendship  he  had  gained 
at  Eton,  invited  him  to  travel  with  him  as  his  com- 
panion. They  wandered  through  France  into  Italy ; 
and  Gray's  '  Letters'  contain  a  very  pleasing  account 
of  many  parts  of  their  journey.  But  unequal  friend- 
ships are  easily  dissolved  :  at  Florence  they  quarrelled, 
and  parted  ;  and  Mr.  Walpole  is  now  content  to  have  it 
told  that  it  was  by  his  fault.  If  we  look,  however, 
without  prejudice  on  the  world,  we  shall  find  that 
men,  whose  consciousness  of  their  own  merit  sets  them 
above  the  compliances  of  servility,  are  apt  enough  in 


(M  LIFE  OF  GRAY. 

their  association  with  superiors  to  watch  their  own  dig- 
nity with  troublesome  and  punctilious  jealousy,  and  in  the 
fervour  of  independence  to  exact  that  attention  which  they 
refuse  to  pay.  Part  they  did,  whatever  was  the  quarrol  ; 
and  the  rest  of  their  travels  was  doubtless  more  unpleas- 
ant to  them  both.  Gray  continued  his  journey  in  a  manner 
suitable  to  his  own  little  fortune,  with  only  an  occasional 
servant. 

He  returned  to  England  in  September,  1741,  and  in 
about  two  months  afterwards  buried  his  father,  who 
had,  by  an  injudicious  waste  of  money  upon  a  new 
house,  so  much  lessened  his  fortune,  that  Gray  thought 
himself  to  -x>or  to  study  the  law.  He,  therefore,  re- 
tired to  Cambridge,  where  he  soon  after  became  ba- 
chelor of  civil  law,  and  where,  without  liking  the  place 
or  its  inhabitants,  or  professing  to  like  them,  ho  passed, 
except  a  short  residence  at  London,  the  rest  of  his 
life. 

About  this  time  he  was  deprived  of  Mr.  West,  the 
son  of  a  chancellor  of  Ireland,  a  friend  on  whom  he 
appears  to  have  set  a  high  value,  and  who  deserved 
his  esteem  by  the  powers  which  he  shows  in  his  letters, 
and  in  the  '  Ode  to  May,'  which  Mr.  Mason  has  pre- 
served, as  well  as  by  the  sincerity  with  which,  when 
Gray  sent  him  part  of  '  Agrippina,  a  tragedy  that  he 
had  just  begun,  he  gave  an  opinion  which  probably  in- 
tercepted the  progress  of  the  work,  and  which  the  judg- 
ment of  every  reader  will  confirm.  It  was  certainly 
no  loss  to  the  English  stage  that  '  Agrippina'  was  never 
finished. 

In  this  year  (1742)  Gray  seems  to  have  applied  him- 
self seriously  to  poetry ;  for  in  this  year  were  produced 
the  '  Ode  to  Spring,'  his  '  Prospect  of  Eton,'  and  his  '  Ode 
to  Adversity.'  He  began  likewise  a  Latin  Poem, '  De  Prin- 
cipiis  Cogitandi. 

It  may  be  collected  from  the  narrative  of  Mr.  Mason, 
that  his  first  ambition  was  to  have  excelled  in  Latin 
poetry :  perhaps  it  were  reasonable  to  wish  that  he  had 
prosecuted  his  design  ;  for,  though  there  is  at  present 
some  embarrassment  in  his  phrase,  and  some  harshness 
in  his  lyric  numbers,  his  copiousness  of  language  is 
such  as  very  few  possess ;  and  his  lines,  even  when 


LIFE  OP  GRAY.  tt> 

imperfect,  discover  a  writer  whom  practice  would  have 
made  skilful. 

He  now  lived  on  at  Peterhouse,  very  little  solicitous 
what  others  did  or  thought,  and  cultivated  his  mind 
and  enlarged  his  views  without  any  other  purpose  than 
of  improving  and  amusing  himself;  when  Mr.  Mason, 
being  elected  fellow  of  Pembroke  Hall,  brought  him  a 
companion  who  was  afterwards  to  be  his  editor,  and 
whose  fondness  and  fidelity  has  kindled  in  him  a  zeal 
of  admiration  which  cannot  be  reasonably,  expected 
from  the  neutrality  of  a  stranger,  and  the  coldness  of 
a  critic. 

In  his  retirement  he  wrote  (1747)  an  ode  on  the 
'  Death  of  Mr.  Walpole'sCat ;'  and  the  year  afterwards 
attempted  a  poem,  of  more  importance,  on  '  Govern- 
ment and  Education,'  of  which  the  fragments  which, 
remain  have  many  excellent  lines. 

His  next  production  (1750)  was  his  far-famed  *  Elegy 
in  the  Church-yard/  which,  finding  its  way  into  a 
magazine,  first,  I  believe,  made  him  known  to  the 
oublic. 

An  invitation  from  Lady  Cobham  about  this  time 
gave  occasion  to  an  odd  composition  called  •  A  Long 
Story,'  which  adds  little  to  Gray's  character. 

Several  of  his  pieces  were  published  (1753)  with 
designs  by  Mr.  Bentley  :  and  that  they  might  in  some 
form  or  other  make  a  book,  only  one  side  of  each  leaf 
was  printed.  I  believe  the  poems  and  the  plates  re- 
commended each  other  so  well,  that  the  whole  impres- 
sion was  soon  bought.  This  year  he  lost  his  mother. 

Some  time  afterwards  (1756)  some  young  men  of 
the  college,  whose  chambers  were  near  his,  diverted 
themselves  wi^h  disturbing  him  by  frequent  and  trou- 
blesome noises,  and.  as  is  said,  by  pranks  yet  more 
off  nsive  and  cont  mptuous.  This  insolence,  having 
endured  it  awhile,  he  represented  to  the  governors  of 
the  society,  among  whom, perhaps,  he  had  no  friends; 
and,  finding  his  complaint  little  regarded,  removed 
himself  to  Pembroke  Hall. 

In  1757,  he  published  •  The  Progress  of  Poetry,  and 
'  The  Bard,' two  compositions  at  which  the  readers  of 
poetry  were  at  first  content  to  gaze  in  mute  amazement. 


66  LIFE  OF  GRAY. 

Some  that  tried  them  confessed  their  inability  to  tin- 
derstaml  them,  though  Warburton  said  they  were  un- 
derstood as  well  as  'the  works  of  Milton  and  Shak- 
speare,  which  it  is  the  fashion  to  admire.  Garrick 
wrote  a  few  lines  in  their  praise.  Some  hardy  cham- 
pions undertook  to  rescue  them  from  neglect ;  and  in 
a  short  time  many  were  content  to  be  shewn  beauties 
which  they  could  not  see. 

Gray's  reputation  was  now  so  high,  that  after  the 
death  of  Gibber,  he  had  the  honour  of  refusing  the 
laurel,  which  was  then  bestowed  on  Mr.  Whitehead. 

His  curiosity,  not  long  after,  drew  him  away  from 
Cambridge  to  a  lodging  near  the  Museum,  where  he 
resided  near  three  years,  reading  and  transcribing; 
•nd,  so  far  as  can  be  discovered,  very  little  affected 
by  two  odes  on  '  Oblivion'  and  '  Obscurity,'  in  which 
his  lyric  performances  were  ridiculed  with  much  con- 
tempt and  much  ingenuity. 

When  the  professor  of  modern  history  at  Cambridge 
died,  be  was,  as  he  says,  '  cockered  and  spirited  up,' 
till  he  asked  it  of  Lord  Bute,  who  sent  him  a  civil  re- 
fusal; and  the  place  was  given  to  Mr.  Brocket,  the 
tutor  of  Sir  James  Lowther. 

His  constitution  was  weak,  and,  believing  that  his 
health  was  promoted  by  exercise  and  change  of  place, 
he  undertook  (1765)  a  journey  into  Scotland,  of  which 
his  account,  so  far  as  it  extends,  is  very  curious  and 
elegant:  for,  as  his  comprehension  was  ample,  his 
curiosity  extended  to  all  the  works  of  art,  all  the  ap- 
pearances of  nature,  and  all  the  monuments  of  past 
events.  He  naturally  contracted  a  friendship  with 
Dr.  Beattie,  whom  he  found  a  poet,  a  philosopher,  and 
a  good  man.  The  Mareschal  College  at  Aberdeen  offered 
him  the  degree  of  doctor  of  laws,  which,  having  omit- 
ted to  take  it  at  Cambridge,  he  thought  it  decent  to 
refuse. 

What  he  had  formerly  solicited  in  vain  was  at  last 
given  him  without  solicitation.  The  professorship  of 
history  became  again  vacant,  and  he  received  (1768) 
an  offer  of  it  from  the  Duke  of  Grafton.  He  accepted 
and  retained  it  to  his  death:  always  designing  lec- 
tures, but  never  appearing  reading  them;  uneasy  at 


LIFE  OF   GHAY.  67 

his  neglect  of  ditty,  and  appeasing  his  uneasiness  with 
designs  of  reformation,  and  with  a  resolution  which  he 
believed  himself  to  have  made  of  resigning  the  office, 
If  he  found  himself  unable  to  discharge  it. 

Ill  health  made  another  journey  necessary,  and  he 
visited  (1769)  Westmoreland  and  Cumberland.  He 
that  reads  his  epistolary  narration,  wishes,  that  to 
travel,  and  to  tell  his  travels,  had  been  more  of  his  em- 
ployment ;  but  it  is  by  studying  at  home  that  we  must 
obtain  the  ability  of  travelling  with  intelligence  and 
improvement. 

His  travels  and  his  studies  were  now  near  their  end. 
The  gout,  of  which  he  had  sustained  many  weak  at- 
tacks, fell  upon  his  stomach,  and,  yielding  to  no  medi- 
cines, produced  strong  convulsions,  which  (July  30, 
1771)  terminated  in  death. 

His  character  I  am  willing  to  adopt,  as  Mr.  Mason 
has  done,  from  a  letter  written  to  my  friend  Mr.  Boswell 
by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Temple,  rector  of  St.  Gluvias  inCoru- 
wal!  ;  and  am  as  willing  as  his  warmest  well-wisher  to 
believe  it  true. 

•  Perhaps  he  was  the  most  learned  man  in  Europe 
He  was  equally  acquainted  with  the  elegant  and  pro- 
found parts  of  science,  and  that  not. superficially,  but 
thoroughly.  He  knew  every  branch  of  history,  both 
natural  and  civil ;  had  road  all  the  original  historians  of 
England,  France,  and  Italy  ;  and  was  a  great  antiqua- 
rian. Criticism,  metaphysics,  morals,  politics,  made 
a  principal  part  of  his  study  ;  voyages  and  travels  of  all 
sorts  were  his  favourite  amusements;  and  he  had  a 
fine  taste  in  painting,  prints,  architecture,  and  garden- 
ing. With  such  a  fund  of  knowledge,  his  conversation 
must  have  been  equally  instructing  and  entertaining  , 
but  he  was  also  a  good  man,  a  man  of  virtue  and  hu 
manity.  There  is  no  character  without  some  speck, 
some  imperfection  ;  and  I  think  the  greatest  defect  in 
his  wasan  affectation  in  delicacy,  or  rather  effeminacy, 
and  a  visible  fastidiousness,  or  contempt  and  disdain 
of  his  inferiors  in  science.  He  also  had,  in  some  degree, 
that  weakness  -which  disgusted  Voltaire  so  much  hi 
Mr  Congreve ;  though  he  seemed  to  value  others  chiefly 
according  to  the  progress  that  they  had  made  in  know 


L 


68  LIFE  OF  GRAY. 

ledge,  yet  he  could  not  bear  to  be  considered  merely  as 
a  man  of  letters ;  and,  though  without  birth,  or  fortune, 
or  station,  his  desire  was  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  private 
independent  gentleman,  who  read  for  his  amusement. 
Perhaps  it  may  be  said,  What  signifies  so  .much  know- 
ledge, when  it  produced  so  little  ?  Is  it  jvorth  taking 
so  much  pains  to  leave  no  memorials  but  a  few  poems? 
But  let  it  be  considered  that  Mr.  Gray  was  to  others  at 
least  innocently  employed  ;  to  himself  certainly  bene- 
ficially. His  time  passed  agreeably:  he  was  every  day 
making  some  new  acquisition  in  science  ;  his  mind  was 
enlarged,  his  heart  softened,  his  virtue  strengthened; 
the  world  and  mankind  were  shewn  to  him  without  a 
mask;  and  he  was  taught  to  consider  every  thing  as 
trifling,  and  unworthy  of  the  attention  of  a  wise  man, 
except  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  and  practice  of  virtue, 
in  that  state  wherein  God  hath  placed  us.' 

To  this  character  Mr.  Mason  has  added  a  more  par- 
ticular account  of  Gray's  skill  in  zoology.  He  has  re- 
marked that  Gray's  effeminacy  was  affected  most '  be- 
fore those  whom  he  did  not  wish  to  please  ;'  and  that 
be  is  unjustly  charged  with  making  knowledge  his  sole 
reason  of  preference,  its  he  paid  his  esteem  to  none 
whom  he  did  not  likewise  believe  to  be  good. 

What  has  occurred  to  me  from  the  slight  inspection 
of  his  Letters  in  which  my  undertaking  has  engaged 
me  is,  that  his  mind  had  a  large  grasp  ;  that  his  curio- 
sity was  unlimited,  and  his  judgment  cultivated  ;  that 
he  was  a  man  likely  to  love  much  where  he  loved  at 
all ;  but  that  be  was  fastidious  and  hard  to  please.  Hi* 
contempt,  however,  is  often  employed  where  I  hope  it 
will  be  approved,  upon  scepticism  and  infidelity.  His 
short  account  of  Shaftesbury  I  will  insert. 

'  You  say  you  cannot  conceive  how  Loid  Shaftesbury 
came  to  be  a  philosopher  in  vogue  ;  I  will  tell  you  ; 
first,  he  was  a  lord  ;  secondly,  he  was  as  vain  as  any  of 
his  readers;  thirdly,  men  are  very  prone  to  believe 
what  they  do  not  understand  ;  fourthly,  they  will  be- 
lieve any  thing  at  all,  provided  they  are  under  no  obli- 
gation to  believe  it ;  fifthly,  they  love  to  take  a  new 
road,  even  when  that  road  leads  no  where ;  sixthly,  lie 
was  reckoned  a  fine  writer,  and  seems  always  to  mean 


LIFE  OF  GRAY.  69 

mare  than  lie  said.  Would  you  have  any  more  reasons  1 
An  interval  of  above  forty  years  has  pretty  well  de- 
stroyed the  charm.  A  dead  lord  ranks  with  commoners* 
vanity  is  no  longer  interested  in  the  matter;  for  a  new 
road  has  become  an  old  one.' 

Mr.  Ma-;  n  has  added,  from  bis  own  knowledge, 
that,  though  Gray  was  poor,  he  was  not  eager  of  money  ; 
»nd  that  oat  of  the  little  that  he  bad,  he  was  very 
willing  to  help  the  necessitous. 

As  a  writer  ive  bad  this  peculiarity,  that  he  did  not 
write  his  pieces  first  rudely,  and  then  correct  them,  but 
laboured  every  line  as  it  arose  in  the  train  of  composi- 
tion ;  and  he  had  a  notion  not  very  peculiar,  that  he 
could  not  write  but  at  certain  times,  or  at  happy  mo- 
ments;  a  fantastic  foppery,  to  which  my  kindness  for 
a  man  of  learning  and  virtue  wishes  him  to  have  been 
superior. 

Gray's  poetry  is  now  to  be  considered  ;  and  I  hope 
not  to  be  looked  on  as  an  enemy  to  his  name,  if  I  con- 
fess that  I  contemplate  it  with  less  pleasure  than  his  life. 

His  ode  '  On  Spring'  has  something  poetical,  both  in 
the  language  and  the  thought;  but  the  language  is  too 
luxuriant,  and  the  thoughts  have  nothing  new.  There 
has  of  late  arisen  a  practice  of  giving  to  adjectives  de- 
rived from  substantives  the  termination  of  participles; 
such  as  the  cultured  plain,  the  daisied  bank  ;  but  I  was 
sorry  to  see,  in  the  lines  of  a  scholar  like  Gray,  the 
honied  Spring.  The  morality  is  natural,  but  too  stale; 
the  conclusion  is  pretty. 

The  poem  «  On  the  Cat'  was  doubtless  by  its  Author 
considered  as  a  trifle;  but  it  is  not  a  happy  trine.  In 
the  first  stanza,  '  the  azure  flowers  that  blow'  shew  re- 
solutely a  rhyme  is  sometimes  made  when  k  cannot 
easily  be  found.  Selima,  the  Cat,  is  called  a  nymph, 
with  some  violence  both  to  language  and  sense ;  but 
there  is  no  good  use  made  of  it  when  it  is  done;  for  of 
the  two  lines, 

What  female  heart  can  ?old  despite  t 
What  i-ai'k  averse  to  fish! 

the  first  relates  merely  to  the  nymph,  and  the  second 
only  to  the  cat.  The  sixth  stanza  contains  a  melan- 
choly truth,  that  '•  a  favourite  has  no  friend  ;'  but  the 


70  LIFE  OF  GRAY. 

last  suds  in  a  pointed  sentence  of  no  relation  to  the 
purpose  ;  if  what  glittered  had  been  gold,  the  cat  would 
not  have  gone  into  the  water;  and,  it  she  had,  would 
not  less  have  been  drowned. 

The  '  Prospect  of  Eton  College'  suggests  nothing  to 
Gray  which  every  beholder  does  not  equally  think  and 
feel.  His  supplication  to  father  Thames,  to  tell  him 
who  drives  the  hoop  or  tosses  the  ball,  is  useless  and 
puerile.  Father  Thames  has  no  better  means  of  knowing 
than  himself.  His  epithet  *  buxom  health'  is  not  ele- 
gant; he  seems  not  to  understand  the  word.  Gray 
thought  his  language  more  poetical  as  it  was  more  re- 
mote from  common  use ;  finding  in  Dryden  '  honey 
redolent  of  spring,'  an  expression  that  reaches  the  ut- 
most limits  of  our  language,  Gray  drove  it  a  little  more 
beyond  common  apprehension,  by  making  '  gales' to  be 
'  redolent  of  joy  and  youth.' 

Of  the  '  Ode  on  Adversity' the  hint  was  at  first  taken 
from  '  O  Diva,  gratum  quae  regie  Antium  :'  hut  Gray 
has  excelled  his  original  by  the  variety  of  his  senti- 
ments, and  by  their  moral  application.  Of  this  piece, 
at  once  poetical  and  rational,  I  will  not,  by  slight  ob- 
jections, violate  the  dignity. 

My  process  has  now  brought  me  to  the  wonderful 
'Wonder  of  Wonders,'  the  two  Sister  Odes,  by  which, 
though  either  vulgar  ignorance  or  common  sense  at 
first  universally  rejected  them,  many  have  been  since 
persuaded  to  think  themselves  delighted.  I  am  one  of 
those  that  are  willing  to  be  pleased,  and  therefore  would 
gladly  find  the  meaning  of  the  first  stanza  of  '  The 
Progress  of  Poetry.' 

Gray  seems  in  his  rapture  to  confound  the  images  of 
'spreading  sound  and  running  water.'  A  'stream  of 
music'  may  be  allowed;  but  where  does  '  music,'  how- 
ever '  smooth  and  strong,'  after  having  visited  the 
'verdant  vales,  roll  down  the  steep  amain,'  so  as  that 
'rocks  and  nodding  groves  rebellow  to  the  roar?'  If  this 
be  said  of  music,  it  is  nonsense  ;  if  it  be  said  of  water, 
it  is  nothing  to  the  purpose. 

The  second  stanza,  exhibiting  Mars'  car  and  Jove's 
eagle, is  unworthy  of  further  notice.  Criticism  disdain* 
to  chase  a  school-boy  to  his  common-places. 


LIFE  OF  GRAY.  71 

To  the  third  it  may  likewise  be  objected,  that  it  is 
drawn  from  mythology,  though  such  as  may  be  more 
easily  assimilated  to  real  life.  Idalia's  '  velvet  green' 
has  something  of  cant.  An  epithet  or  metaphor  drawn 
from  Nature  enobles  Art ;  an  epithet  or  metaphor 
drawn  from  Art  degrades  Nature.  Gray  is  too  fond  of 
•words  arbitrarily  compounded.  '  Many-twinkling'  waa 
formerly  censured  as  not  analogical ;  we  may  say 
'  many-spotted/  but  scarcely  '  anany-spotting.'  This 
stanza,  however,  has  something  pleasing. 

Of  the  second  ternary  of  stanzas/the  first  endeavours 
to  tell  something,  and  would  have  told  it,  had  it  not 
been  crossed  by  Hyperion :  the  second  describes  well 
enough  the  universal  prevalence  of  poetry ;  but  I  am 
afraid  that  the  conclusion  will  not  arise  from  the  pre- 
mises. The  caverns  of  the  north  and  the  plains  of 
Chili  are  not  the  residences  of  'glory  and  generous 
shame.'  But  that  Poetry  and  Virtue  go  always  toge- 
ther is  an  opinion  so  pleasing,  that  I  can  forgive  him 
who  resolves  to  thkik  it  true. 

The  third  stanza  sounds  big  with  '  Delphi,'  and 
'  Kgean/and  '  Ilissus,'  and  '  Meander,' and  '  hallowed 
fountains,'  and  '  solemn  sound  ;'  but  in  all  Gray's  odes 
there  is  a  kind  of  cumbrous  splendour  which  we  wish 
away.  His  position  is  at  last  false :  in  the  time  of 
Dante  and  Petrarch,  from  whom  we  derive  our  first 
school  of  Poetry,  Italy  was  overrun  by  '  tyrant  power/ 
and  'coward  vice;'  nor  was  our  state  much  better 
when  we  first  borrowed  the  Italian  arts. 

Of  the  third  ternary,  the  first  gives  a  mythologi«al 
birth  of  Shakspeare.  What  is  said  of  that  mighty  geniua 
it  true;  but  it  is  not  said  happily:  the  real  effects  of 
this  poetical  power  are  put  out  of  sight  by  the  pomp  of 
the  machinery.  W'here  truth  is  sufficient  to  fill  the 
mind,  fiction  is  worse  than  useless;  the  counterfeit  de- 
buses the  genuine. 

His  account  of  MiUon's  blindness,  if  we  suppose  it 
eansed  by  study  in  the  formation  of  his  poem,  a  sup- 
position surely  allowable,  is  poetically  true,  and  hap- 
pily imagined.  But  the  car  of  Dryden,  with  his  two 
couriers,  has  nothing  in  it  peculiar ;  it  is  a  car  in  which 
any  other  rider  may  be  placed. 


7"?  LIFE  OF  GRAY. 

'  The  Bard'  appears,  at  the  first  view,  to  be,  as.  Al 
parotti  and  others  have  remarked,  an  imitation  of  the 
prophecy  of  Nereus.  Algarotti  thinks  it  superior  to  its 
original ;  and,  if  preference  depends  only  on  the  ima- 
gery and  animation  of  the  two  poems,  his  judgment,  is 
right.  There  is  in  '  The  Bard'  more  force,  more 
thought,  and  more  variety.  But  to  copy  is  less  than  to 
invent,  and  the  copy  has  been  unhappily  produced  at 
a  wrong  time.  The  fiction  of  Horace  was  to  the  Ro- 
mans credible ;  but  its  revival  disgusts  us  wit h  apparent 
and  unconquerable  falsehood.  Incredulus  odi. 

To  select  a  singular  event,  and  swell  it  to  a  giant's 
bulk  by  fabulous  appendages  of  spectres  and  predic- 
tions, has  little  difficulty;  for  he  that  forsakes  the  pro- 
bable may  always  find  the  marvellous.  And  it  has 
li-ttle  use  ;  we  are  affected  only  as  we  believe ;  we  are 
improved  only  as  we  find  something  to  be  imitated  or 
declined.  1  do  not  see  that '  The  Bard'  promotes  any 
truth,  moral  or  political. 

His  stanzas  are  too  long,  especially  his  epodes;  the 
ode  is  finished  before  the  ear  has  learned  its  measures, 
and  consequently  before  it  can  receive  pleasure  from 
their  consonance  and  recurrence. 

Of  the  first  stanza  the  abrupt  beginning  has  been  ce- 
lebrated :  but  technical  beauties  can  give  praise  only 
to  the  inventor.  It  is  in  the  power  of  any  man  to  rush 
abruptly  upon  his  subject,  that  has  read  the  ballad  of 
'  Jolrnny  Armstrong/ 

Is  there  ever  a  man  in  all  Scotland— 

The  initial  resemblances  or  alliterations,' ruin,  ruth- 
less, helm,  or  hauberk,'  are  below  the  grandeur  of  a 
ponm  that  endeavours  at  sublimity. 

In  the  second  stanza  the  Bard  is  well  de-.cribed;  but 
in  the  third  we  have  the  puerilities  of  obsolete  mytho- 
logy. When  we  are  told  that  '  Cadwallo  hush'd  the 
stormy  main,'  and  that  •  Modred  made  huge  Pliclim- 
mon  bow  his  cloud  topp'd  head,' attention  recoils  from 
the  repetition  of  a  tale  that,  even  when  it  was  first 
heard,  was  heard  with  scorn. 

The  weaving  of  the  winding-sheet  he  borrowed,  a?  uo 
owns,  from  the  N'orthern  Bards  :  but  their  texture, 


LIFE  OF  GRAY.  73 

however,  was  very  properly  tbe  work  of  female  powers, 
as  the  act  of  spinning  the  thread  of  life  is  another  my- 
thology. Theft  is  always  dangerous;  Gray  has  made 
weavers  of  slaughtered  bards  by  a  fiction  outrageous 
and  incongruous.  They  arc  then  called  upon  to 

•  Weave  the  warp,  and  weave  the  woof,'  perhaps  with 
no  great  propriety  ;  for  it  is  by  crossing  the  woof  with 
the  warp  that  men  weave  the  web  or  piece  ;  and  the 
first  line  was  dearly  bought  by  the  admission  of  its 
wretched  correspondent,  '  Give  ample  room  and  verge 
enough.'*     He  has,  however,  no  other  line  as  bad. 

The  third  stanza  of  the  second  ternary  is  commend- 
ed, I  think,  beyond  its  merit.  Tbe  personification  is 
indistinct.  Thirit  and  Hunger  are  not  alike  ;  and  their 
feature's,  to  make  the  imagery  perfect  should  have  been 
discriminated.  We  are  told,  in  the  same  stanza,  how 

*  towers  are  fed,'    But  I  will  no  longer  look  for  parti- 
cular faults;  yet  let  it  be  observed  that  the  ode  might 
have  been  concluded  with  an  action  of  better  example, 
but  suicide  is  always  to  be  had,  without' expense  of 
thought. 

These  odes  are  marked  by  glittering  accumulations 
of  ungraceful  ornaments;  they  strike,  rather  than 
please  ;  the  images  are  magnified  by  affectation;  the 
language  is  laboured  into  harshness.  The  mind  of  the 
writer  seems  to  work  with  unnatural  'violence.  '  Dou- 
ble, double,  toil  and  trouble."  He  has  a  kind  of  strut- 
ting dignity,  and  is  tall  by  walking  on  tiptoe.  His  art 
and  his  struggle  are  too  visible,  and  there  is  too  little 
appearance  of  ease  and  nature. 

To  say  that  he  had  no  beauties  would  be  unjust;  a 
man  like  him,  of  great  learning  and  great  industry, 
could  not  but  produce  something  valuable.  When  he 
pleases  least,  it  can  only  be  said  that  a  good  design 
was  ill  directed. 

His  translations  of  Northern  and  Welsh  Poetry  de- 
serve praise;  the  imagery  is  preserved,  perhaps  often 
improved ;  but  the  language  is  unlike  the  language  ot 
other  poets. 

•  '  I       re  a  soul,  that  like  an  ample  shield 
r,    take  iu  all;  aud  verge  eno^fk  for  more.' 

Drydm'i  SttMuOnn 

*  / 


74  LIFE  0*  GRAY. 

In  the  character  of  his  Elegy  I  rejoice  to  concur  with 
the  common  reader;  for  by  the  common  sense  of 
readers,  uncorrupted  with  literary  prejudices,  after  all 
the  refinements  of  subtilty  and  the  dogmatism  of  learn- 
ing, must  be  finally  decided  all  claim  to  poetical  ho- 
nours. The  'Church  yard'  abounds  with  images  which 
find  a  mirror  in  every  mind,  and  with  sentiments  to 
which  every  bosom  returns  an  echo.  The  four  stanzas, 
beginning  '  Yet  even  these  bones,'  are  to  me  original : 
I  have  never  seen  the  notions  in  any  other  place  ;  yet 
he  that  reads  them  here  persuades  himself  that  he  has 
always  felt  them.  Had  Gray  written  often  thus,  it  had 
been  vain  to  blame,  and  UP«»VRS  to  praise  him. 


POEMS 


ODES. 


I.  ON  THE  SPRING. 

Lo !  where  the  rosy-bosomM  Hours, 

Fair  Venus'  tiain,  appear, 
Disclose  the  long-expected  flowers, 

And  wake  the  purple  year! 
The  Attic  warbler  pours  her  throat. 
Responsive  to  the  cuckoo's  note, 
The  untaught  harmony  of  spring  : 

While,  whisp'ring  pleasure  as  they  fly. 

Cool  Zephyrs  through  the  clear  blue  skj 
Their  gather'd  fragrance  fling. 

Where'er  the  oak's  thick  branches  stretch 

A  broader,  browner  shade  ; 
Where'er  the  rude  and  moss-grown  beech 

O'er-canopies  the  glade, 
Beside  some  water's  rushy  brink 
With  me  the  Muse  shall  sit,  and  think 
(At  ease  reclined  in  rustic  state) 

How  vain  the  ardour  of  the  crowd. 

How  low,  how  little  are  the  proud. 
How  indigent  the  great ! 
Still  is  the  toiling  hand  of  Care  : 

The  panting  herds  repose: 
Yet  hark,  how  through  the  peopled  air 

The  busy  murmur  glows ! 
The  insect  youth  are  on  the  wing, 
Eager  to  taste  the  honied  spring. 


76  ON  THE  DEATH  OP 

And  float  amid  the  liquid  noon  : 
Some  lightly  o'er  the  current  skim, 
Some  shew  their  gaily-gilded  trim, 

Quick-glancing  to  ths  sun. 

To  Contemplation's  sober  eye 

Such  is  the  race  of  man : 
And  they  that  creep,  and  they  that  fly, 
Shall  end  where  they  began. 
Alike  the  busy  and  the  gay 
But  flutter  through  life's  little  day, 
In  fortune's  varying  colours  drest : 
Brush'd  by  the  hand  of  rough  Mischance, 
Or  chill'd  by  Age,  their  airy  dance 
They  leave,  in  dust  to  rest. 

Methinks  I  hear  in  accents  low 

The  sportive  kind  reply  : 
*  Poor  moralist !  and  what  art  thou  T 

A  solitary  fly ! 

Thy  joys  no  glittering  female  meets, 
No  hive  hast  thou  of  hoarded  sweets. 
No  painted  plumage  to  display: 

On  hasty  wings  thy  youth  is  flown; 

Thy  sun  is  set,  thy  spring  is  gone— 
We  frolic,  while  'tis  May.* 


II.    ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  FAVOURITE  CAT. 

Drowned  in  a  Tub  of  Gold  Fithe*. 
TWAS  on  a  lofty  vase's  side, 
Where  China's  gayest  art  had  dyed 
The  azure  flowers,  that  blow  ; 

Demurest  of  the  tabby  kind. 
The  pensive  Selima  reclined, 
Gazed  on  the  lake  below. 


A  FAVOURITE  CAT.  77 

Her  conscious  tail  her  joy  declared  ; 
The  fair  round  face,  the  snowy  beard, 
The  velvet  of  her  paws, 

Her  coat,  that  with  the  tortoise  vies. 

Her  ears  of  jet,  and  emerald  eyes, 
She  saw  j  and  purr'd  applause. 
Still  had  she  gazed;  but  'midst  the  tide 
Two  angel  forms  were  seen  to  glide, 
The  Genii  of  the  stream  : 

Their  scaly  armour's  Tynan  hue 

Through  richest  purple  to  the  view 
Betray'd  a  golden  gleam. 
The  hapless  Nymph  with  wonder  *aw  r 
A  whisker  first,  and  then  a  claw, 
With  many  an  ardent  wish, 

She  stretch'd  in  vain  to  reach  the  prim 

What  female  heart  ean  gold  despise  1 
What  Cat's  averse  to  fish  ? 
Presumptuous  Maid  !  with  looks  intent 
Again  she  stretch'd,  again  she  bent, 
Nor  knew  the  £ulf  between. 

(Malignant  Fate  sate  by,  and  smile* ) 

The  slipp'ry  verge  her  feet  beguiled, 
She  tumbled  headlong  in. 
Eight  rimes  emerging  from  the  flood, 
She  mew'd  to  ev'ry  wat'ry  God, 
Some  speedy  aid  to  send. 

No  Dolphin  came,  uo  Nereid  stirr'd  : 

Nor  cruel  Tom,  nor  Susan  heard — 
A  fav'rite  has  no  friend  ! 
From  hence,  ye  beauties,  undeceived, 
Know,  one  false  step  is  ne'er  retrieved 

And  be  with  caution  bold. 
Not  all  that  tempts  your  wand'ri 
And  heedless  hearts,  is  lawful  priee 

Nor  all,  that  glisters,  gold 


78  ON  A  PROSPECT  OF 

III.    ON  A  DISTANT  PROSPECT  OP 
ETON  COLLEGE. 

*Av9pairof  tKavri  rrpo^acrij  ei j  TO  tvffrvxtiv. 

Mtnandtr, 

YE  distant  spires,  ye  antique  towers, 

That  crown  the  wat'ry  glade, 
Where  grateful  Science  still  adores 

Her  Henry's^  holy  shade; 

And  ye,  that  from  the  stately  brow 

Of  Windsor's  heights  th'  expanse  below 
Of  grove,  of  lawn,  of  mead  survey; 

Whose  turf,  whose  sbade,  whose  flowers  among 

Wanders  the  hoary  Thames  along 
His  silver-winding  way! 

'Ah  happy  hills  !  ah  pleasing  shade  ! 

Ah  fields  beloved  in  vain, 
Where  once  my  careless  childhood  stray'd 

A  stranger  yet  to  pain  ! 
I  feel  the  gales  that  from  ye  blow 
A  momentary  bliss  bestow, 
As  waving  fresh  their  gladsome  wing, 

My  weary  soul  they  seem  to  sooth, 

And,  redolent  of  joy  and  youth, 
To  breathe  a  second  spring. 

Say,  Father  Thames,  for  thoa  hast  seen 

Full  many  a  sprightly  race. 
Disporting  on  ihy  margent  green, 

The  paths  of  pleasure  trace, 
Who  foremost  now  delight  to  cleave 
With  pliant  arm  thy  glassy  wave  ? 
The  captive  linnet  which  enthral  ? 

What  idle  progeny  succeed 

To  chase  the  rolling  circle's  speed, 
Or  urge  the  flying  ball? 

•  King  Henry  the  Sixth,  founder  of  the  College. 


ETON  COLLEGE.  79 

While  some  on  earnest  business  bent 

Their  mnrm'ring  laoours  ply 
'Gainst  graver  hours,  that  bring  constraint 

To  sweeten  liberty  : 
Some  bold  adventurers  disdain 
The  limits  of  their  little  reign, 
And  unknown  regions  dare  descry  : 

Still  as  they  run  they  look  behind, 

They  hear  a  voice  in  every  wind, 
And  snatch  a  fearful  joy. 

Gay  hope  is  theirs,  by  fancy  fed, 

Less  pleasing  when  possest ; 
The  tear  forgot  as  soon  as  shed, 

The  sunshine  of  the  breast: 
Theirs  buxom  health  of  rosy  hue, 
Wild  wit,  invention  ever  new. 
And  lively  cheer  of  vigour  born  j 

The  thoughtless  day,  the  easy  night. 

The  spirits  pure,  the  slumbers  light. 
That  fly  th'  approach  of  morn. 

Alas  !  regardless  of  their  doom, 

The  little  victims  play! 
No  sense  have  they  of  ills  to  come. 

Nor  care  beyond  to-day : 
Yet  see  how  all  around  'em  wait 
The  ministers  of  human  fate, 
And  black  Misfortune's  baleful  train  : 

Ah,  shew  them  where  in  ambush  stand, 

To  seize  their  prey,  the  murth'rous  baud 
Ah,  tell  them  they  are  men  ! 

These  shall  the  fury  Passions  tear, 

The  vultures  of  the  mind, 
Disdainful  Anger,  pallid  Fear, 

And  Shame  that  scuiks  behind  ; 
Or  pining  Love  shall  waste  tlieir  youth, 
Or  Jealousy  with  rankling  tooth, 


80    PROSPECT  OF  ETON  COLLEGE. 

That  inly  gnaws  the  secret  heart, 
And  Envy  wan,  and  faded  Care, 
Grim-visaged  comfortless  Despair, 

And  Sorrow's  piercing  dart. 

Amhition  this  shall  tempt  to  rise, 

Then  whirl  the  wretch  from  high, 
To  bitter  Scorn  a  sacrifice, 

And  grinning  Infamy. 
The  stings  of  Falsehood  those  shall  try, 
And  hard  Unkindness'  alter'd  eye, 
That  mocks  the  tear  it  forced  to  flow; 
And  keen  Remorse  with  blood  denied, 
And  moody  Madness  laughing  wild 
Amid  severest  woe. 

Lo,  in  the  vale  of  years  beneath 

A  griesly  troop  are  seen, 
The  painful  family  of  Death, 

More  hideous  than  their  queen: 
This  racks  the  joints,  this  fires  the  vein*, 
That  every  labouring  sinew  strains, 
Those  in  the  deeper  vitals  rage  : 

Lo,  Poverty,  to  fill  the  band, 

That  numbs  the  soul  with  icy  hand. 
And  slow- consuming  Age. 
To  each  his  suff'rings  :    all  are  men, 

Condemn'd  alike  to  groan; 
The  tender  for  another's  pain, 

Th'  unfeeling  for  his  own. 
Yet  ah  !  why  should  they  know  their  fat«, 
Since  sorrow  never  comes  too  late, 
And  happiness  too  swiftly  flies  ? 

Thought  would  destroy  their  paradise. 

Ko  more;  where  ignorance  is  bliss, 
Ti§  folly  to  be  wise. 


81 


IV.   TO  ADVERSITY. 


Zfjva— 


Toy  Qpovflv  Bporovf  o  3<o- 
a-avra,  T«p  ItaOti  paddy 
Qftrra  nvpiaif  l%uv. 

Mtchytut,  in  Agamemnon 

DAUGHTER  of  Jove,  relentless  power, 

Thou  tamer  of  the  human  breast, 
Whose  iron  scourge  and  tort'ring  hour 

The  Bad  affright,  afflict  the  Best ! 
Bound  in  thy  adamantine  chain 
The  proud  are  taught  to  taste  of  pain, 
And  purple  tyrants  vainly  groan 
With  pangs  unfelt  before,  unpitied  and  alone 
When  first  thy  sire  to  send  on  earth 

Virtue,  his  darling  child,  design'd, 
To  thee  he  gave  the  hcav'nly  birth, 

And  bade  to  form  her  infant  mind. 
Stern  rugged  Nurse  !  tny  rigid  lore 
With  patience  many  a  year  she  bore  : 
What  sorrow  was,  thou  bad'st  her  know. 
And  from  her  own  she  learn 'd  to  melt  at  others'  woe. 
Scared  at  thy  frown  terrific,  fly 

Self-pleasing  Folly's  idle  brood, 
Wild  Laughter,  Noise,  and  thoughtless  Joy 

And  leave  us  leisure  to  be  good. 
Light  they  disperse,  and  with  them  go 
The  summer  Friend,  the  flattering  Foe  ; 
By  vain  Prosperity  received, 

'To  her  they  vow  their  truth,  and  are  again  believed. 
Wisdom  in  sable  garb  array'd, 

Immersed  in  rapt'rous  thought  profound, 
And  Melancholy,  silent  maid, 

With  leaden  eye,  that  loves  the  ground, 
K2 


82  TO  ADVERSITY. 

Still  on  thy  solemn  steps  attend : 

Warm  Charity,  the  general  friend, 

With  Justice,  to  herself  severe, 

And  Pity,  dropping  soft  the  sadly-pleasing  teat 

Oh,  gently  on  thy  suppliant's  head, 

Dread  Goddess,  lay  thy  chast'ning  hand  ! 
Not  in  thy  Gorgon  terrors  clad, 

Nor  circled  with  the  vengeful  band 
(As  by  the  impious  thou  art  seen) 
With  thund'ring  voice,  and  threat'ning  mien, 
With  screaming  Horror's  funeral  cry, 
Despair,  and  fell  Disease,  and  ghastly  Poverty. 

Thy  form  benign,  oh,  Goddess,  wear, 

Thy  milder  influence  impart. 
Thy  philosophic  train  be  there 

To  soften,  not  to  wound  my  heart. 
The  generous  spark  extinct  revive, 
Teach  me  to  love  and  to  forgive. 
Exact  my  own  defects  to  scan, 
What  others  are  to  feel,  and  know  myself  a  Man. 


83 

V.   THE  PROGRESS  OF  POESY. 
Pindaric.* 

<t>u)*uvra  ffweTouriv'  eg 

At  Xan'fti  TO  irai/,  tp/innt'wv. 

Pindar,  Olymp.  II. 
I.I. 

AWAKE,  JEol'ixn  lyre,  awake, 

And  give  to  rapture  all  thy  trembling  strings. 

tFrom  Helicon's  harmonious  springs, 
A  thousand  rills  their  mazy  progress  take  : 
The  laughing  flowers,  that  round  them  blow, 
Drink  life  and  fragrance  as  they  flow. 
Now  the  rich  stream  of  music  winds  along 
Deep,  majestic,  smooth,  and  strong, 
Through  verdant  vales,  and  Ceres'  golden  reign: 
Now  rolling  down  the  steep  amain, 
Headlong,  impetuous,  see  it  pour  : 
The  rocks,  and  nodding  groves,  rebellow  to  the  roar. 

1.2. 

{Oh!  Sov'reign  of  the  willing  soul, 

Parent  of  sweet  and  solemn  breathing  airs, 

Enchanting  shell !  die,  sullen  Cares, 

And  frantic  Passions,  hear  thy  soft  control. 

On  Thracia's  hills  the  Lord  of  War 

Has  curb'd  the  fury  of  his  car, 

•  When  the  author  first  published  this  and  Ihe  following  Ode,  he 
was  adviM-il,  m-n  by  his  In.  mis,  to  subjoin  some  few  explanatory 
note*;  but  had  i  ••  m'uih  reject  for  the  understanding  of  his  rc.ui- 
er>  to  take  that  liberty. 

t  The  «ubjttl  and  'himilr,  as  usual  with  Pind.ir,  are  united  The 
various  muri-n.  of  poetry,  which  jriv  ts  lii'c  .uid  lusirti  to  all  it  touch,  », 
ftre  here  desrr ibtd,  ii»  quirt  majc»tio  progioi*  enrifhin^  every  tttili- 
ject(oilierwuf  dry  and  barren)  with  a  pnmp  »f  diction  and  luxuriant 
uruiuuy  ol  niinib  r-;  ami  it*  more  rapid  and  irruu>tiiilr  cour-e, 
whi-ii  owalr.  and  hurried  aw.iv  by  ihe  coutHcl  of  tumultlUMH  pawion* 

t  I'ower  ol  hurinony  localiu  ta<  tutbuleut  ullien  of  the  »oul.  The 
thought*  are  borrowed  from  tlic  Tint  I'jti.i.u.  of  I'indir. 


84  THE  PROGRESS 

And  dropp'd  his  thirsty  lance  at  thy  command. 

Perching  on  the  sceptred  hand 

Of  Jove,  thy  magic  lulls  the  feather'd  king 

With  ruffled  plumes,  and  flagging  wing: 

Qnench'd  in  dark  clouds  of  slumber  lie 

The  terror  of  his  beak,  and  lightnings  of  bis  eya. 

1.3. 

•Thee  the  voice,  the  dance,  obey, 

Tcmpcr'd  to  thy  warbled  lay. 

O'er  Idalia's  velvet  green 

The  rosy-crowned  Loves  are  seen, 

On  Cytherea's  day, 

With  antic  Sport,  and  blue-eyed  Pleasures, 

Frisking  light  in  frolic  measures; 

Now  pursuing,  now  retreating, 

Now  in  circling  troops  they  meet ; 
To  brisk  notes  in  cadence  beating 

Glance  their  many-twinkling  feet. 
Slow  melting  strains  their  Queen's  approach  declare: 

Where'er  she  turns  the  Graces  homage  pay. 
With  arms  sublime,  that  float  upon  the  air, 

In  gliding  state  she  wins  her  easy  way  : 
O'er  her  warm  cheek,  and  rising  bosom  move 
The  bloom  of  young  Desire,  and  purple  light  of  Love 

ILL 

tMan's  feeble  race  what  ills  await ! 

Labour,  and  Penury,  the  racks  of  Pain, 
Disease,  and  Sorrow's  weeping  train, 

And  Death,  sad  refuge  from  the  storms  of  Fate! 
The  fond  complaint,  my  song,  disprove, 
And  justify  the  laws  of  Jove. 

•  Power  of  harmony  to  produce  all  the  grace*  of  motion  In  the 
body. 

t  To  compensate  the  real  and  imaginary  ills  of  life,  the  Muse  wt» 
given  to  mankind  by  the  same  Providence  thai  sends  the  day  by  III 
cuevful  pretenc*  to  dispel  the  gloom  and  terrors  of  the  night. 


OF  POESY.  85 

Say,  has  he  giv'n  in  vain  the  heav'nly  Muse  T 

Isight,  and  all  her  sickly  dews, 

Her  spectres  wan,  and  birds  of  boding  cry, 

He  gives  to  range  the  dreary  sky  : 

'I'M  down  the  eastern  cliffs  afar 

Hyperion's  march  they  spy,  and  glittering  shafts  of  wiir. 

II.  2. 

•In  climes  beyond  the  solar  road, 
Where  shaggy  forms  o'er  ice-built  mountains  roam, 
The  Muse  has  broke  the  twilight-gloom 

To  cheer  the  shivering  native's  dull  abode. 
And  oft,  beneath  the  od'rous  shade 
Of  Chili's  boundless  forests  laid, 
She  deigns  to  hear  the  savage  youth  repeat 
In  loose  numbers  wildly  sweet 
Their  feather-cinctured  chiefs,  and  dusky  loves. 
Her  track,  where'er  the  Goddess  roves, 
Glory  pursue,  and  generous  Shame, 

Th  unconquerable  Mind,  and  Freedom's  holy  flame. 

II.  3. 

tWoods,  that  wave  o'er  Delphi's  steep, 
Isles,  that  crown  th'  jEgeau  deep, 

Fields,  that  cool  Ilissus  laves, 

Or  where  Maeander's  amber  waves 
In  lingering  lab'rinths  creep, 
How  do  your  tuneful  Echoes  languish, 
Mute,  but  to  the  voice  of  Anguish  ! 

•  Ext.  luive  Influence  of  poetic  grnius  over  the  remotest  and  niot-i 
uncivilized  11:111011*  :  its  connexion  with  liberty,  and  the  virtue*  thai 
ii.uu  rally  attend  on  it — (Ste  the  Erse,  Norwegian,  and  Welsh  Frag- 
ments ;  the  Lapland  ind  American  Songs.) 

«  Progreiw  of  poeiry  from  Greece  to  Italy,  and  from  Italy  to  Eng- 
land. Chaucer  wai  not  unacquainted  wiili  the  writings  of  Dante  or 
of  Petrarch.  The  Karl  of  Surrey  and  Sir  Thomas  Wyalt  had  traveller 
In  Italy,  and  formed  thtir  taste  there;  Spenser  imitated  the  Italian 
writer* ;  Milton  improved  on  them;  but  thisn'hool  exp  red »oon  aftrr 
the  liesioration,  and  a  new  one  arose  on  the  French  modei,  which  bu 
ever  since. 


86  THE  PROGRESS 

Where  each  old  poetic  Mountain 

Inspiration  breath'd  around  ; 
Ev'ry  shade  and  hallo  w'd  fountain 

Murmur'd  deep  a  hollow  sound: 
Till  the  sad  Nine  in  Greece's  evil  hour 

Left  their  Parnassus  for  the  Latian  plains. 
Alike  they  scorn  the  pomp  of  tyrant  Power, 

And  coward  Vice,  that  revels  in  her  chains, 
When  Latium  bad  her  lofty  spirit  lost, 
They  sought,  oh  Albion !  next  thy  sea-encircled  CO*K. 

III.  1. 

Far  from  the  sun  and  summer-gale, 

In  thy  green  lap  was  Nature's*  darling  laid. 
What  time,  where  lucid  Avon  stray'd, 

To  him  the  mighty  mother  did  unveil 

Her  awful  face  :  the  dauntless  child 

Stretch'd  forth  his  little  arms,  and  smiled. 

•  This  pencil  take,'  she  said, '  whose  colours  clear 

Richly  paint  the  vernal  year : 

Thine  too  these  golden  keys,  immortal  boy  I 

This  can  unlock  the  gates  of  Joy  ; 

Of  Horror  that,  and  thrilling  Fears. 

Or  ope  the  sacred  source  of  sympatnetic  Teara.' 

III.  2. 
Nor  second  He,*  that  rode  sublime 

Upon  the  seraph-wings  of  Ecstasy, 

The  secrets  of  th'  abyss  to  spy. 
He  pass'd  the  flaming  bounds  of  space  and  time  : 
The  living-throne,  the  sapphire-blaze, 
Where  angels  tremble,  while  they  gaze, 
He  saw  ;  but  blasted  with  excess  of  light, 
Closed  his  eyes  in  endless  night. 

•  Shak*peare.  t  MUloo. 


OF  POESY.  87 

Behold  where  Dryden's  less  presumptuous  car 
Wide  o'er  the  fields  of  glory  bear 
Two  coursers  of  ethereal  race, 

With  necks  in  thunder  clothed,  and  long-resounding 
pace. 

III.  3. 

Hark,  his  hands  the  lyre  explore  ! 
Bright-eyed  Fancy,  hovering  o'er, 

Scatters  from  her  pictured  urn 

Thoughts,  that  breathe,  and  words,  that  bora. 

•But  ah  !  'tis  heard  no  more 

Oh  !  lyre  divine,  what  daring  Spirit 
Wakes  thee  now  ?  though  he  inherit 
Nor  the  pride,  nor  ample  pinion, 

tThat  the  Theban  eagle  bear, 
Sailing  with  supreme  dominion 

Through  the  azure  deep  of  air: 
Yet  oft  before  his  infant  eyes  would  run 

Such  forms,  as  glitter  in  the  Muse's  ray 
With  orient  hues,  unborrow'd  of  the  Sun : 

Yet  shall  he  mount,  and  keep  his  distant  way 
Beyond  the  limits  of  a  vulgar  fate, 
Beneath  the  Good  how  far — but  far  above  the  Great. 


'  Hark  I  heard  ye  not  you  footstep  dread  "  tec. 
t  Pindar. 


88 

VI.    THE  BARD. 

Pindaric." 

•RUIN  seize  thee,  ruthless  king  I 

Confusion  on  thy  banners  wait ! 
Though  fann'd  by  conquest's  crimson  wing. 

They  mock  the  air  with  idle  state. 
Helm,  or  hauberk'st  twisted  mail, 
Nor  e'en  thy  virtues,  tyrant,  shall  avail 
To  save  thy  secret  soul  from  nightly  fears, 
From  Cambria's  curse,  from  Cambria's  tears  I' 
Such  were  the  sounds,  that  o'er  the  crested  piide 

Of  the  first  Edward  scatter'd  wild  dismay, 
As  down  the  steep  of  Snowdou'sJ  shaggy  side 

He  wound  with  toilsome  march  his  long  array. 
Stout  Glo'ster$  stood  aghast  in  speechless  trance  ; 
'To  arms !'  cried  Mortimer,)]  and  couch'd  his  quiv'ring 
lance. 

1.2. 

On  a  rock,  whose  haughty  brow 

Frowns  o'er  old  Conway's  foaming  flood, 

Robed  in  the  sable  garb  of  woe, 
With  haggard  eyes  the  Poet  stood 

^  Loose  his  beard,  and  hoary  hair 

Stream'd,  like  a  meteor,  to  the  troubled  air); 

»  This  Ode  is  founded  on  a  tradition  current  in  Wales,  th*t  Edward 
the  First,  when  he  completed  the  conquest  of  that  country,  ordered 
all  the  bards  that  fell  into  his  hands  to  be  put  to  death. 

t  The  hauberk  was  a  texture  of  steel  ringlet*,  or  rings  interwoven, 
forming  a  coat  of  mail,  that  sat  close  to  the  body,  aod  adapted  Ittelf 
to  every  motion. 

t  Snowdon  was  a  name  fflvrn  by  the  Saxons  to  that  mountainous 
tract  which  the  Welsh  themselves  call  Criigivn-eryri:  it  included 
all  the  highland*  of  Caernarvonshire  and  Merionethshire,  as  far  east 
as  the  river  Conway.  R.  Hygrden,  speaking  of  the  Castl*  of  Conway, 
built  by  King  Edward  the  First.  says,  '  Ad  ortum  amnis  Conway  ad 
clivum  niontis  I'.icry  ,'  and  Matthew  of  Westminster,  tad  ami.  1-283}, 
'  Apud  Aberconway  ad  pedes  montis  Snowdoniae  fecit  erigi  ca^trum 
forte.' 

§  Gilbert  de  Clare,  surnamed  the  Red,  earl  of  Gloucester  and  Hert- 
ford, fum-in-law  to  King  Edward. 

Vlidmond  de  Mortimer,  lord  of  Wlgmore. 
liev  both  were  Lordf-M'irchers,  whose  lands  lay  on  the  borden 
of  Wales,  and  probably  accompanied  the  king  ,'n  this  expedition* 


THE  BARD.  89 

And  with  a  master's  hand,  and  prophet's  fire, 

Struck  the  deep  sorrows  of  his  lyre. 

'  Hark,  how  each  giant-oak,  and  desert  cave, 

Sighs  to  the  torrent's  awful  voice  beneath  ! 
O'er  thee,  oh  king  !  their  hundred  arms  they  wave, 

Revenge  on  thee  in  hoarser  murmurs  breathe  ; 
Vocal  no  more,  since  Cambria's  fatal  day, 
To  high-born  Hoel's  harp,  or  soft  Llewellyn's  lay. 

I.  3. 

'  Cold  is  Cadwallo's  tongue, 

That  hush'd  the  stormy  main : 
Brave  Urien,  sleeps  upon  his  craggy  bed  : 

Mountains,  ye  mourn  in  vain 
Modred,  whose  magic  song 

Made  huge  Plinlfmmon  bow  his  cloud-topp'd  head. 
On  dreary  Arvon's  shore  *  they  lie, 

Smear'd  with  gore,  and  ghastly  pale  : 

Far,  far  aloof  th'  affrighted  ravens  sail ; 
The  famish'd  eagle  t  screams,  and  passes  by. 
Dear,  lost  companions  of  my  tuneful  art, 

Dear,  as  the  light  that  visits  these  sad  eyes, 
Dear,  as  the  ruddy  drops  that  warm  my  heart, 

Ye  died  amidst  your  dying  country's  cries 

Ko  more  I  weep.    They  do  not  sleep. 

On  yonder  cliffs,  a  griesly  band, 
I  see  them  sit  ;  they  linger  yet, 

Avengers  of  their  native  land: 
With  me  in  dreadful  harmony  they  join, 
AndJ  weave  with  bloody  hands  the  tissue  of  thy  line.' 

•  The  shores  of  Caernarvonshire  opposite  to  the  Me  of  Angli  sey. 

t  Caraden  and  ot'iers  observe,  that  eagles  u»ccl  annually  to  build 
their  aerie  amoujjthe  rocks  of  Snowdon,  which  from  thence  (a.  tome 
think)  were  named  by  Ihe  Welsh  (raigiun-tryri,  or  Uiecrlfto!  Ihe 
eai<le«.  At  thU  day  (I  am  tolil)  the  Unhetl  pc.inl  of  Snowduli  it 
called  the  ,agle't  netl.  Thai  bird  i.  certainly  no  strjnjt-r  to  (hit 
Maud,  a«  the  Scot*  and  the  people  of  CunilierUnri,  W  e.tinonlaud,  Itr. 
can  leVily :  it  even  has  built  it-  ne*t  in  the  Peak  of  L)erbj .Lire.  'See 
W.lloughby't  Ornithol.  published  by  K.iy.; 

I  See  the  Norwegian  Ode,  that  follows.  £ 


90  THE  BARD. 

II.  1. 
*  Weave  the  warp,  and  weave  the  woof, 

The  winding-sheet  of  Edward's  race. 
Give  ample  room,  and  verge  enough 

The  characters  of  hell  to  trace. 
Mark  the  year,  and  mark  the  night, 
•When  Severn  shall  re-echo  with  affright ; 
The  shrieks  of  death,  through  Berkley's  roof  that  ring, 
Shrieks  of  an  agonizing  king! 
tShe-wolf  of  France,  with  unrelenting  fangs, 

That  tear'st  the  bowels  of  thy  mangled  mate, 
J  From  thee  he  born,  who  o'er  thy  country  hangs 

The  scourge  of  Heav'n !  What  terrors  round  him  wait ! 
Amazement  in  his  van,  with  Flight  combined, 
And  Sorrow's  faded  form,  and  Solitude  behind. 

II.  2. 
'  Mighty  victor,  mighty  lord, 

$  Low  on  his  funeral  couch  he  lies ! 
No  pitying  heart,  no  eye,  afford 

A  tear  to  grace  his  obsequies. 
Is  the  sable  $Warrior  fled  ? 
Thy  sun  is  gone.    He  rests  among  the  dead. 
The  swarm,  that  in  thy  noon-tide  beam  were  born  ? 
Gone  to  salute  the  rising  Morn. 
IJFair  laughs  the  Morn,  and  soft  the  Zephyr  blows, 

While  proudly  riding  o'er  the  azure  realm 
In  gallant  trim  the  gilded  vessel  goes  ; 

Youth  on  the  prow,  and  Pleasure  at  the  helm  ; 
Regardless  of  the  sweeping  whirlwind's  sway, 
That,  hush'd  in  grim  repose,  expects  his  evening  prey. 

•  Edward  the  Second,  cruelly  butchered  In  Berkley  Castle. 

t  Itabelof  France,  Edw..rd  the  Second's  adulterous  queen. 

I  Triumphs  of  Edward  Ihc  Third  in  France. 

i  Death  of  that  king,  abandoned  by  his  children,  and  even  robbed 
In  his  last  moments  by  hi-  courtiers  a'nd  his  mistress. 

5  Inward  ihe  Black  I'riuce,  dead  some  time  before  his  father. 

%  Magnificence  of  Kir  hard  the  Second's  reign.  See  Frohsard,  and 
other  contemporary  writers. 


THB  BARD  91 

II.  3. 

•  Pill  high  the  sparkling  bowl, 

The  rich  repast  prepare  ; 
Reft  of  a  crown,  he  yet  may  share  the  featt : 

Close  by  the  regal  chair 
Pell  Thirst  and  Famine  scowl 
A  baleful  smile  upon  their  baffled  guest. 
Heard  ye  the  din  of  tbattle  bray, 

Lance  to  lance,  and  horse  to  horse  T 

Long  years  of  havock  urge  their  dostin'd  course, 
And  through  the  kindred  squadrons  mow  their  way. 
Ye  Towers  of  Julius,t  London's  lasting  shame,, 

With  many  a  foul  and  midnight  murder  fed. 
Revere  his  ^consort's  faith,  his  father's)!,  fame, 

And  spare  the  meekH  usurper's  holy  head  ! 
Above,  below,  the  "rose  of  snow, 

Twin'd  with  her  blushing  foe,  we  spread  : 
The  bristled  ttboar  in  infant  gore 

Wallows  beneath  the  thorny  shade. 
Now,  brothers,  bending  o'er  th'  accursed  loom, 
Stamp  we  our  vengeance  deep,  and  ratify  his  doom. 

III.  1. 

"  Edward,  lo  !  to  sudden  fate 
(Weave  we  the  woof.    The  thread  is  spun.) 

•  Richard  the  Second  (as  we  are  told  by  Archbishop  Scroop  and 
the  confederate  lord*  In  their  manifesto,  by  Thomas  of  Walsin»;ham, 
and  all  the  older  writer*)  was  starved  lo  death.  The  story  of  hi* 
atsantlnation,  by  Sir  fieri,  of  Exon,  is  of  mm  h  later  date. 

t  Ruinous  civil  wan  of  York  and  Lancaster. 

{  H.-nrjr  the  Sixth,  George  duke  of  Clarence,  Edward  the  Fifth, 
Richard  duke  of  York,  Ice.  believed  to  be  murdered  secretly  in  the 
Tower  of  London.  The  oldest  part  of  that  structure  is  vulgarly  attri- 
buted to  Julius  Cae*ar. 

5  Margaret  of  Anjou,  a  woman  of  heroic  spirit,  who  struggled  hard 
to  tave  her  husband  and  her  croon. 

I  Henry  the  Filth. 

U  Henry  the  Sixth,  very  near  being-  canonized.  The  line  of  Lan- 
caster had  no  rigbr  of  inheritance  to  the  crown. 

•*  The  white  aiui  red  roses,  devices  of  York  and  Lancaster. 

ft  The  silver  boar  was  the  badge  --I  Richard  the  Third :  whence  b« 
via  usually  known,  in  hi*  own  rime,  by  the  name  of  tkt  Boar. 

.H 


92  THE  BARD. 

•Half  of  thy  heart  we  consecrate. 

(The  web  is  wove.    The  work  is  done.") 
•  Stay,  oh  stay  !  nor  thus  forlorn 
Leave  me  unbless'd,  unpitied,  here  to  mourn  : 
In  yon  bright  track,  that  fires  the  western  skies, 
They  melt,  they  vanish  from  my  eyes. 
But  oh !  what  solemn  scenes,  on  Snowdon's  height 

Descending  slow,  their  glittering  skirts  unroll? 
Visions  of  glory,  spare  my  aching  sight, 

Ye  unborn  ages,  crowd  not  on  my  soul ! 
No  more  our  long-lostt  Arthur  we  bewail. 
All  hail,}  ye  genuine  kings !  Britannia's  issue  hail! 

III.  2. 
'  Girt  with  many  a  baron  bold, 

Sublime  their  starry  fronts  they  rear; 
And  gorgeous  dames,  and  statesmen  old 

In  bearded  majesty,  appear. 
In  the  midst  a  form  divine  ! 
Her  eye  proclaims  her  of  the  Briton-line  ; 
Her  lion-port,§  her  awe  commanding  face, 
Attemper'd  sweet  to  virgin-grace. 
What  strings  symphonious  tremble  in  the  air, 

What  strains  of  vocal  transport  round  her  play ' 
Hear  from  the  grave,  great  Taliessin,||  hear! 

They  breathe  a  soul  to  animate  thy  clay. 
Bright  Rapture  calls,  and  soaring,  as  she  sings, 
Waves  in  the  eye  of  Heav'n  her  many-colour'd  wings. 

»  Eleanor  of  Castile  died  a  few  years  after  the  conquest  of  Wale*. 
The  heroic  proof  she  gave  of  her  affection  for  her  lord  is  well  known 
The  monuments  of  his  regret  and  sorrow  for  ihe  loss  of  her  are  still  to 
be  seen  at  Northampton,  Geddinslon,  Wallham,  and  other  places. 

1  I  twas  (he  common  belief  "f  IheWeM)  nation,  that  King  Arthur  nat 
still  alive  in  Fairy-Land,  and  should  return  again  to  reign  over  I  .ru  .mi. 

J  Both  Merlin  and  Taliessin  had  prophes.ed,  that  the  W<  Ish  should 
refrain  their  sovereignty  over  this  island  ;  which  seemed  to  be  accom- 
plished in  the  House  of  Tudor. 

5  Speed,  relating  an  audience  given  by  Queen  Elizabeth  to  Paul 
I)zfaliu-ki,  amha.hador  of  Poland,  says,  '  And  thus  she,  lion-like  n.~ 
iaa,  daunted  the  malapert  orator  no  less  with  her  stately  port  and 
Diajestical  deporture,  than  with  th£  lartneiwtof  her  priiiceiit .  htckcs  • 

!|  Taliessin,  chief  of  the  bards,  flourished  In  the  sixth  century,  hk 
works  are  still  preserved,  and  his  memory  held  in  high  veneration 
among  his  countrymen. 


THE  BARD  93 

III.  3. 
*  The  v*r»e  adorn  again 

Fierce  War,  and  faithful  Love, 
And  Truth  severe,  by  fairy  Fiction  drest. 

In  •buskin'd  measures  move 
Pale  Grief,  and  pleasing  Pain, 
With  Horror,  tyrant  of  the  throbbing  breast. 
A  tvoice  as  of  the  cherub  choir, 

Gales  from  blooming  Eden  bear; 

And  Jdistant  warblings  lessen  on  my  ear, 
That  lost  in  long  futurity  expire. 
Fond,  impious  man,  think'st  thou  yon  sanguine  cloud, 

Raised  by  thy  breath,  hath  quench 'd  the  orb  of  day  f 
To  morrow  he  repairs  the  golden  flood, 

And  warms  the  nations  with  redoubled  ray. 
Enough  for  me  :  with  joy  I  see 

The  different  doom  our  Fates  assign. 
Be  thine  Despair,  and  sceptred  Care  ; 

To  triumph,  and  to  die,  are  mine.' 
He  spoke,  and  headlong  from  the  mountain's  height. 
Deep  in  the  roaring  tide  he  plung'd  to  endless  night! 


VII.    FOR  MUSIC.$ 

Irregtdar. 

I. 

'  HENCE,  avaunt  ('tis  holy  ground), 

Comus,  and  his  midnight  crew, 
And  Ignorance  with  looks  profound, 

Ami  dreaming  Sloth  of  pallid  hue, 

•  Shakspeare.  +  Millo». 

J  The  §ui  re-. ion  of  poet*  after  Milton't  time. 

4Thl«  Ode  wai  performed  in  the  Seuate-House  at  CanbrMm. 

JuH  «,  "769,  at  the  imuliatloo  ofhw  grace  AugwiiK  Henrj  Filzro^ 

dtke  of  Uraftoo,  cbucellor  of  the  Uidrerrity. 


94  THE  BARD. 

Mad  Sedition's  cry  profane, 

Servitude  that  hugs  her  chain, 

WOT  in  these  consecrated  bowers 

Let  painted  Flatt'iy  hide  her  serpent-train  in  flowers, 

Nor  Envy  base,  nor  creeping  Gain 

Dare  the  Muse's  walk  to  stain, 

While  bright-ey'd  Science  watches  round  t 

Hence,  away,  'tis  holy  ground  !' 

II. 

From  yonder  realms  of  empyrean  day 

Bursts  on  my  ear  th'  indignant  lay  : 

There  sit  the  sainted  Sage,  the  Bard  divine, 

The  few,  whom  Genius  gave  to  shine 

Through  every  unborn  age,  and  undiscoverM  clime. 

Rapt  in  celestial  transport  they, 

Yet  hither  oft  a  glance  from  high 

They  send  of  tender  sympathy 

To  bless  the  place,  where  on  their  opening  soul 

First  the  genuine  ardour  stole. 

'Twas  Milton  struck  the  deep-toned  shell, 

And,  as  the  choral  warblings  round  him  swell, 

Meek  Newton's  self  bends  from  his  state  sublime. 

And  nods  his  hoary  head,  and  listens  to  the  rhyme. 

III. 

*  Ye  brown  o'er-arching  groves, 

That  Contemplation  loves, 

Where  willowy  Camus  lingers  with  delight. 

Oft  at  the  blush  of  dawn 

I  trod  your  level  lawn, 

Oftwoo'd  the  gleam  of  Cynthia  silver-bright 
In  cloisters  dim,  far  from  the  haunts  of  Folly, 
With  Freedom  by  my  side,  and  soft-ey'd  Melancholy.* 

IV. 

But  hark!  the  portals  sound,  and  pacing  forth 
With  solemn  steps  and  slow, 


ODE  FOR  MUSIC.  96 

High  potentates,  and  dames  of  royal  birth, 
And  mitred  fathers  in  long  order  go  : 
Great  'Edward,  with  the  lilies  on  his  brow, 

From  haughty  Galiia  torn, 

And  tsad  Chatillon,  on  her  bridal  morn, 

That  wept  her  bleeding  Love,  and  princely}  Clare, 
And  f  Anjou's  heroine,  and  ||  the  paler  Rose, 
The  rival  of  her  crown  and  of  her  woes, 

And  H  either  Henry  there, 

The  murder'd  Saint,  and  the  majestic  Lord, 

That  broke  the  bonds  of  Rome. 

(Their  tears,  their  little  triumphs  o'er, 
Their  human  passions  now  no  more. 

Save  Charity,  that  glows  beyond  the  tomb) 

All  that  on  Grama's  fruitful  plain 

Rich  streams  of  regal  bounty  pour'd, 

And  bade  these  awful  fanes  and  turrets  rise. 

To  hail  their  Fitzroy's  festal  morning  come1 

And  thus  they  speak  in  soft  accord 

The  liquid  language  of  the  skies. 
V. 

'  What  is  grandeur,  what  is  power  T 

Heavier  toil,  superior  pain. 

What  the  bright  reward  we  gain  ? 

The  grateful  memory  of  the  good. 

*  Edward  the  Third  ;  who  added  Iheylmr  de  lyt  of  France  to  the 
arms  of  England.  He  founded  Trinii*  College. 

f  Mary  de  Valentia,  couuie-s  of  ^  tnbroke,  daughter  of  Guy  de 
Chaullon,  comte  de  St.  Paul  in  France  .  or  whom  tradition  sayn,  that 
her  husband,  Andemar  de  Valentia,  eail  of  Pembroke,  was  slam  at  a 
tournament  on  the  day  ofhis  nuptial*.  She  was  the  foundress  of  Pem- 
broke College,  or  Hall,  under  the  name  of  Aula  Mjn*  de  Valentia. 

I  Ellzab.  tb  de  Burg,  counter  of  Clare,  wan  wife  of  John  <le  Hurir, 
•on  and  helrof  the  Karl  o  U  isier,  and  d  J  ughter  of  Gilbert  de  Clare,  carl 
Of  Oloncnter,  by  Joan  of  Acre*,. laughter  <>f  Edwaru  the  First.  Hence 
the  poet  give>  her  the  epithet  of '  princely.'  She  founded  Clare  Hall. 

^  Margaret  of  Anjou,  wife  of  Henry  the  Sixth,  foundress  of  Queen'* 
College.  The  poet  has  celebrated  her  conjugal  fidelity  in  the  former 
Ode:  V.  Epo<le  *i,  line  uth. 

||  Elizabeth  Mi.uiiit-,  wife  of  Edward  the  Fourth  (hrn«-c  called  the 
paler  Rose,  aa  being  of  the  House  of  York).  She  added  to  the  founda- 
tion of  Margaret  of  AKJOU. 

D  Henry  the  Sixth  and  Eighth.  The  former  founder  of  King's,  Ihn 
latter  the  greatest  benefactor  to  Trinity  College. 


96  ODE  TO  MUSIC. 

Sweet  is  the  breath  of  vernal  shower. 
The  bee's  collected  treasures  sweet, 
Sweet  Music's  melting  fall,  but  sweeter  yet 
The  still  small  voice  of  Gratitude.' 

VI. 

Foremost  and  leaning  from  her  golden  cloud 

The  'venerable  Marg'ret  see ! 
*  Welcome,  my  noble  son,  (she  cries  aloud) 

To  this,  thy  kindred  train,  and  me  : 
Pleased  in  thy  lineaments  we  trace 
tA  Tudor's  fire,  a  Beaufort's  grace. 
Thy  liberal  heart,  thy  judging  eye, 
The  flower  unheeded  shall  descry, 
And  bid  it  round  heav'n's  altars  shed 
The  fragrance  of  its  blushing  head  : 
Shall  raise  from  earth  the  latent  gem 
To  glitter  on  the  diadem. 

VII. 

'  Lo,  Granta  waits  to  lead  her  blooming  band, 

Not  obvious,  not  obtrusive,  She 
No  vulgar  praise,  no  venal  incense  flings; 
Nor  dares  with  courtly  tongue  refined 
Profane  thy  inborn  royalty  of  mind  : 

She  reveres  herself  and  thee. 
With  modest  pride  to  grace  thy  youthful  brow 
The  laureate  wreath,  that  fCecil  wore,  she  brings, 
And  to  thy  just,  thy  gentle  hand 
Submits  the  fasces  of  her  sway. 
While  spirits  blest  above  and  men  below 
Join  with  glad  voice  the  loud  symphonious  lay. 

•  Countess  of  Richmond  and  Derby :  the  mother  of  Hear?  ttw 
Seventh,  foundress  of  St.  John's  and  Christ's  Colleges. 

t  The  counters  was  a  Beaufort,  and  married  to  a  Tudor :  hence  the 
application  of  this  line  to  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  who  claims  de*ceul 
from  bo  h  these  families. 

1  Lord  Treasurer  liurgbley  was  chancellor  of  the  UnireKitv,  in  llw 
reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 


THE  FATAL  SISTERS.  97 

VIII. 

•Through  the  wild  waves,  as  they  roar, 
With  watchful  eye  and  dauntless  mien 

Thy  steady  course  of  honour  keep, 

Nor  fear  the  rocks,  nor  seek  the  shore  t 
The  Star  of  Brunswick  smiles  serene 

And  gilds  the  horrors  of  the  deep.' 


VIII.    THE  FATAL  SISTERS. 

From  the  None-  Tongue.* 
Now  the  storm  begins  to  lower 

(Haste,  the  loom  of  Hell  prepare), 
Iron-sleet  of  arrowy  shower 

Hurtles  in  the  darken'd  air. 

•  To  be  found  in  the  Orcades  of Thormodiw  Torfeus  ;  Hiifnite,  1497, 
folio :  and  also  in  Uartholinus. 

Vllt  er  orpit  fjrlr  valfalli,  ic. 

The  design  of  Mr.  Gray  in  writing  this  and  the  three  following  imi- 
tative Odt-e  U  given  in  the  Memoirs  of  Ills  Life.  For  the  better  under- 
standing the  first  of  these,  the  reader  is  to  be  informed,  that  in  the 
eleventh  century,  Sigurd,  earl  nf  the  Orkney  Islands,  went  with  a 
fleet  »f  ~lnrs  and  a  considerable  body  of  troops,  into  Ireland,  to  Ilia 
assi-un.v  of  Mrtryu  tcil/i  the  til/ten  beard,  who  was  then  making 
war  on  his  father-in-law  Brian,  king  of  Dublin  :  the  earl  and  all  his 
forces  were  cut  to  pieces,  and  Siclryg  was  In  danger  of  a  total  deft  at; 
but  the  enemy  had  a  greater  loss  by  the  dc.iih  ol  Brian,  their  king, 
who  fell  in  the  action.  On  Christmas-day  (the  day  of  the  liatile)  a 
Dative  ol  Cuittineis,  in  Scotland,  saw  at  a  distance  a  numrrr  of  per- 
lons  on  horseback  riding  full  speed  towards  a  hill,  and  seeming  to 
cut.  r  into  it.  Curiosity  led  him  to  follow  them,  till  looking  through 
an  opening  in  the  rock*,  he  saw  twelve  gigantic  figures  resembling 
women:  they  were  all  employed  about  a  loom  ;  and  a- they  wo\r, 
they  sung  the  foil  >» mir  dreadful  song  ;  which,  when  the.)  had  finished, 
they  tore  the  web  into  twelve  pieces,  and  (each  taking  her  portion) 
galloped  six  to  the  north  and  as  many  to  die  south.  These  were  the 
KoMyriur,  female  divinities  servants  of  Odhi  (or  Woden)  in  the 
Gothic  Mythology.  Their  name  signifies  Choosers  ff  the  slain.  They 
were  mounted  on  swift  horses,  with  drawn  swords  in  their  hands;  and 
In  the  throng  of  battle  selected  such  as  were  destined  to  slaughter, 
and  conducted  them  to  Valhalla,  the  hall  of  udint  or  paradise  of  the 
brave ;  where  they  attended  the  banquet,  and  served  the  departed 
heroes  with  horns  of  mead  and  ale. 

F 


4W  THE  FATAL  SISTERS. 

Glitt'ring  lances  are  the  loom, 
Where  the  dusky  warp  we  strain, 

Weaving  many  a  soldier's  doom, 
Orkney's  woe,  and  Randver's  bane. 

See  the  griesly  texture  grow 
(Tis  of  human  entrails  made), 

And  the  weights,  that  play  below 
Each  a  gasping  warrior's  head. 

Shafts  for  shuttles,  dipt  in  gore, 
Shoo',  the  trembling  cords  along. 

Sword,  that  once  a  monarch  bore, 
Keeps  the  tissue  close  and  strong 

Mista  black,  terrific  maid, 

Sangrida,  and  Hilda  see, 
Join  the  wayward  work  to  aid  : 

•'TIS  the  woof  of  victory. 

Ere  the  ruddy  sun  he  set, 

Pikes  must  shiver,  javelins  sing. 

Blade  with  clattering  buckler  meet, 
Hauberk  crash,  and  helmet  ring. 

(Weave  the  crimson  web  of  wai ) 

Let  us  go,  and  let  us  fly, 
Where  our  friends  the  conflict  share, 

Where  they  triumph,  where  they  die. 

As  the  paths  of  fate  we  tread, 

Wading  through  th'  ensanguined  field  t 

Gondula,  and  Gei-ra,  spread 

O'er  the  youthful  king  your  shield. 

We  the  reins  to  slaughter  give, 
Ours  to  kill,  and  ours  to  spare  : 

Spite  of  danger  he  shall  live 

(Weave  the  crimson  web  ot  war). 


THE  FATAL  SISTERS.  99 

They,  whom  once  the  desert-beach 

Peat  within  its  bleak  domain, 
Soon  their  ample  sway  shall  stretch 

O'er  the  plenty  of  the  plain, 

Low  the  dauntless  earl  is  laid, 

Gored  with  many  a  gaping  wound  I 

Fate  demands  a  nobler  head  ; 
Soon  a  king  shall  bite  the  ground. 

Long  his  loss  shall  Erin  weep, 

Ne'er  again  his  likeness  see; 
Long  her  strains  in  sorrow  steep, 

Strains  of  Immortality ! 

Horror  covers  all  the  heath, 

Clouds  of  carnage  blot  the  sun. 
Sisters,  weave  the  web  of  death; 

Sisters,  cease  ;  the  work  is  done. 

Hail  the  task,  and  hail  the  hands! 

Songs  of  joy  and  triumph  sing ! 
Joy  to  the  victorious  bands  ; 

Triumph  to  the  younger  king. 

Mortal,  thou  that  hear'st  the  tale, 

Learn  the  tenor  of  our  song. 
Scotland,  through  each  winding  vale 

Far  and  wide  the  notes  prolong. 

Sisters,  hence  with  spurs  of  speed  : 

Each  her  thundering  falchion  WM' 
BarL  bestride  her  sable  steed : 

Harry,  hurry  to  the  field. 


100 


IX.    THE  DESCENT  OF  ODIN.« 

From  the  Norse-  Tongue. 

UPROSE  the  King  of  Men  with  speed, 
And  saddled  strait  his  coal-black  steed; 
Down  the  yawning  steep  he  rode, 
That  leads  to  »Hela's  drear  abode. 
Him  the  Dog  of  Darkness  spied, 
His  shaggy  throat  he  opeu'd  wide, 
While  from  his  jaws,  with  carnage  SUM, 
Foam  and  human  gore  distill'd  : 
Hoarse  he  bays  with  hideous  din, 
Eyes  that  glow,  and  fangs  that  grin ; 
And  long  pursues,  with  fruitless  yell, 
The  Father  of  the  powerful  spell. 
Onward  still  his  way  he  takes 
(The  groaning  earth  beneath  him  shake*). 
Till  full  before  his  fearless  eyes 
The  portals  nine  of  hell  arise. 
Right  against  the  eastern  gate, 
By  the  moss-grown  pile  he  sate  ; 
Where  long  of  yore  to  sleep  was  laid 
The  dust  of  the  prophetic  Maid. 
Facing  to  the  northern  clime, 
Thrice  he  traced  the  Runic  rhyme; 
Thrice  pronounced,  in  accents  dread, 
The  thrilling  verse  that  wakes  the  dead  ; 
Till  from  out  the  hollow  ground 
Slowly  breathed  a  solemn  sound. 

•  The  original  It  to  be  found  in  Bortholinus.  de  causii  contemoca- 
de  mortis,;  Hafnife,  1689,  quarto. 

Uprcfs  Odimi  alMu  gautr,  &c. 

tJVyfArmir,  the  hell  of  the  Gothic  nations, consisted  of  nine  world., 
to  which  were  devoted  all  such  as  died  of  sickness,  old  age,  or  by  any 
other  mean*  than  in  battle :  over  it  presided  HeU,  the  Goddess  of 
Death. 


DESCENT  OF  ODIN.  101 

Pr.  What  call  unknown,  what  charms  presume 
To  break  the  quiet  of  the  tomb  ? 
Who  thus  afflicts  my  troubled  sprite, 
And  drags  me  from  the  realms  of  night  T 
Long  on  these  mould'ring  hones  have  beat 
The  winter's  snow,  the  cummer's  heat. 
The  drenching  dews  and  driving  rain! 
Let  me,  let  me  sleep  again. 
Who  is  He,  with  voice  unblest, 
That  calls  me  from  the  bed  of  rest  t 

O.  A  traveller,  to  thee  unknown, 

Is  he  that  calls,  a  Warrior's  Son. 

Thou  the  deeds  of  light  shalt  know  ; 

Tell  me  what  is  done  below, 

For  whom  yon  gliu'ring  board  is  spread, 

Drest  for  whom  yon  golden  bed. 

Pr.  Mantling  in  the  goblet  see 
The  pure  bev'rage  of  the  bee  ; 
O'er  it  hangs  the  shield  of  gold) 
Tis  the  drink  of  Balder  bold; 
Baldcr's  head  to  death  is  giv'n. 
Pain  can  reach  the  Sons  of  Heav'n! 
Unwilling  I  my  lips  unclose: 
Leave  me,  leave  me  to  repose. 

O.  Once  again  my  call  obey, 
Prophetess,  arise,  and  say, 
What  dangers  Odin's  child  await, 
Who  the  author  of  his  fate. 

Pr.  In  Hoder's  hand  the  hero's  doom : 
His  brother  sends  him  to  the  tomb. 
Now  my  weary  lips  I  close : 
Leave  me,  leave  me  to  repose. 

O.  Prophetess,  my  spell  obey, 
Once  again  arise,  and  say, 


102  DESCENT  OF  ODIN. 

Who  th'  avenger  of  his  guilt, 

By  whom  shall  Hoder's  blood  be  spilt. 

Pr.  Ill  the  caverns  of  the  west, 
By  Odin's  fierce  embrace  comprest, 
A  wond'rous  Boy  shall  Hindu  bear, 
Who  ne'er  shall  comb  his  raven-hair. 
Nor  wash  his  visage  in  the  stream. 
Nor  see  the  sun's  departing  beam  ; 
Till  he  on  Hoder's  corse  shall  smile 
Flaming  on  the  fun'ral  pile. 
Now  my  weary  lips  I  close  : 
Leave  me,  leave  me  to  repose. 

O.  Yet  awhile  my  call  obey, 
Prophetess,  awake,  and  say, 
What  Virgins  these,  in  speechless  woe, 
That  bend  to  earth  their  solemn  brow, 
That  their  flaxen  tresses  tear, 
And  snowy  veils,  that  float  in  air. 
Tell  me  whence  th<!r  sorrows  rose: 
Then  I  leave  th<»e  to  repose. 

Pr,  Ha !  no  traveller  art  tliou, 
King  of  Men,  I  know  thee  now, 
Mightiest  of  a  mighty  line 

O.  No  boding  maid  of  skill  divine 
Art  thou,  nor  prophetess  of  good  j 
But  mother  of  the  giant-brood ! 

Pr.  Hie  thee  hence,  and  boast  at  home. 

That  never  shall  inquirer  come 

To  break  my  iron-sleep  again  ; 

Till  »Lok  has  burst  his  tenfold  chain. 

•  Lah  is  the  evtl  Being,  who  continues  in  chains  till  the  Twilight 
of  the  Gods  approaches,  when  be  shall  breik  his  bonds ;  the  human 
rice,  the  stars,  and  sun  shall  disappear;  the  earth  sink  In  the  seat, 
did  fire  consume  the  skies:  even  Odin  himself  and  his  kliulred-deitie* 
>haO  perish.  For  a  farther  explanation  of  this  mythology,  tee  '  ID- 


TRIUMPHS  OF  OWEN.  103 

Never,  till  substantial  Night 
Has  re  assumed  her  ancient  right; 
Till  wrapp'd  in  flames,  in  ruin  hurl'd, 
Sinks  the  fab;  ic  of  the  world. 


X.    THE  TRIUMPHS  OF  OWEN.* 

From  the  Welth. 

OWEM's  praise  demands  my  song, 
Owen  swift,  and  Owen  strong  ; 
Fairest  flower  of  Roderic's  stem, 
tGwyneth's  shield,  and  Britain's  gem. 
He  nor  heaps  his  brooded  stores, 
Nor  on  all  profusely  pours ; 
Lord  of  every  regal  art, 
Liberal  hand,  and  open  heart. 

Big  with  hosts  of  mighty  name, 
Squadrons  three  against  him  came  ; 
This  tlie  force  of  Eirin  hiding, 
Side  by  side  as  proudly  riding, 
On  her  shadow  long  and  gay 
jLochlin  ploughs  the  wat'ry  way ; 
There  the  Norman  sails  afar 
Catch  the  winds,  and  join  the  war  : 
Black  and  huge  along  they  sweep, 
Burthens  of  the  angsy  deep. 
Dauntless  on  his  native  sands 
§The  Dragon-Son  of  Mona  stands ; 

•reduction  4   1'HMoire  de  Uannemarc,   par  Mom.  Mallet,'  1754, 
quarto;  or  rather  *  translation  of  it,  published  in  1770,  and  entitled, 
'Northern  Antiquities,"  in  which  tome  mistaken  in  the  ongii.al  ;ire 
jndiciousljr  corrected. 
•  From  Mr.  Erant'i  Specimen*  of  the  WeUh  Poetry  ;  London,  1764, 

anarto.     Owen  succeeded  his  father  Griffin  in   the   principality  or 
orlh  Wale*,  A.  D    1110.    This  battle  wu  fought  ne.tr  forty  yean 
afterward. 

t  North  Wain.  t  Denmark. 

S  The  red  draRon  is  the  device  of  Cadwallader,  whicli  all  kl*  te> 
•cendantt  tore  on  their  bau&ert. 


104  DEATH  OF  HOEL. 

In  glitt'ring  arms  and  glory  drest, 
High  he  rears  his  ruby  crest. 
There  the  thund'ring  strokes  begin, 
There  the  press,  and  there  the  din; 
Talymalfra's  rocky  shore 
Echoing  to  the  battle's  roar. 
Check'd  by  the  torrent-tide  of  blood 
Backward  Meinai  rolls  his  flood  ) 
While,  heap'd  his  master's  feet  around, 
Prostrate  warriors  gnaw  the  ground. 
While  his  glowing  eye-balls  turn, 
Thousand  banners  round  him  burn. 
Where  he  points  his  purple  spear, 
Hasty,  hasty  Rout  is  there, 
Marking  with  indignant  eye 
Fear  to  stop,  and  shame  to  fly. 
There  Confusion,  Terror's  child, 
Conflict  fierce,  and  Ruin  wild, 
Agony,  that  pants  for  breath, 
Despair  and  honourable  Death. 


XI.    THE  DEATH  OF  HOEL. 
From  the  Welth* 

HAD  I  but  the  torrent's  might, 

With  headlong  rage  and  wild  affright 

Upon  Deira's  squadrons  hurl'd, 

To  rush,  and  sweep  them  from  the  world ! 

Too,  too  secure  in  youthful  pride, 

15y  them  my  friend,  my  Hoel,  died, 

Great  Cian's  son:  of  Madoc  old 

He  ask'd  no  heaps  of  hoarded  gold  ; 

•  of  Anfiirim,  styled  the  Monarch  of  the  Bards.  He  gourtahr 
•boil  iiiv  time  of  Taliessin,  A.  D.  670.  This  Ode  it  extracted  In- 
tbc  Oodiiiiu.  (See  Mr.  Kraal'*  Specimens,  p.  71.  and  79.) 


SONNET.  106 

Alone  in  Nature's  wealth  array'd, 
He  ask'd,  and  bad  the  lovely  Maid. 
To  Cattraeth's  vale  in  glitt'ring  row 
Twice  two  hundred  warriors  go; 
Every  warrior's  manly  neck 
Chains  of  regal  honour  deck, 
Wreath'd  in  many  a  golden  link : 
From  the  golden  cup  they  drink 
Nectar,  that  the  bees  produce, 
Or  the  grape's  ecstatic  juice. 
Flush'd  with  mirth  and  hope  they  barn; 
But  none  from  Cattraeth's  vale  return. 
Save  Ae'ron  brave,  and  Conaii  strong, 
(Bursting  through  the  bloody  throng) 
And  I.  the  meanest  of  (hem  all, 
That  live  to  weep,  and  sing  their  fall. 


SONNET* 
ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  RICHARD  WEST 

IN  vain  to  ma  the  smiling  Mornings  shine, 

And  redd'ning  Phoebus  lifts  his  golden  fire  : 
The  birds  in  vain  their  amorous  descant  join, 

Or  cheerful  fields  resume  their  green  attire : 
These  ears,  alas!  for  other  notes  repine, 

A  different  object  do  these  eyes  require  ; 
My  lonely  anguish  melts  no  heart  but  mine, 

And  in  my  breast  the  imperfect  joy*  expire. 
Yet  Morning  smiles  the  busy  race  to  cheer, 

And  new-born  pleasure  brings  to  happier  men ; 
The  fields  to  all  their  wonted  tribute  bear; 

To  warm  their  little  loves  the  birds  complain  : 
I  fruitless  mourn  to  him  that  cannot  hear, 

And  weep  the  more,  because  I  weep  in  vain. 

•  Sw  Memoir*,  >,  ,-i.  a.  « 

F2 


106 

EPITAPH  I. 
ON  MRS.  CLARKE.* 

Lo !  where  the  silent  Marble  weeps, 

A  friend,  a  wife,  a  mother  sleeps : 

A  heart,  within  whose  sacred  cell 

The  peaceful  Virtues  loved  to  dwell. 

Affection  warm,  and  faith  sincere, 

And  soft  humanity  were  there. 

In  agony,  in  death  r^ign'd, 

She  felt  the  wound  she  left  behind. 

Her  infant  image,  here  below, 

Sits  smiling  on  a  father's  woe  : 

Whom  what  awaits,  while  yet  he  strmjrt 

Along  the  lonely  vale  of  days? 

A  pang,  to  secret  sorrow  dear ; 

A  sigh ;  an  unavailing  tear  ; 

Till  Time  shall  ev'ry  grief  remove, 

With  Life,  with  Memory,  and  with  Lore , 


EPITAPH  Il.t 
ON  SIR  WILLIAM  WILLIAMS. 

HERE,  foremost  in  the  dangerous  paths  of  fame, 
Young  Williams  fought  for  England's  fair  renown  ; 

His  mind  each  muse,  each  grace  adorn'd  his  frame, 
Nor  Envy  dared  to  view  him  with  a  frown. 

*  This  lady,  the  wife  of  Dr.  Clarke,  phvnirian  at  Bpsom,  died 
April  27, 1757;  and  is  buried  in  the  church  of  litckcnli-ira,  Kent. 

t  This  epitaph  was  writn-n  at  the  request  of  Mr.  Frederick  Mon- 
tague, who  intended  to  have  inscribed  it  on  a  monument  at  Belligle, 
al  tiie  siege  of  which  this  accomplished  youth  was  killed,  1-761  ;  bat 
from  some  difficult;  attending  Ute  erection  of  it,  the  design  was  cot 
eseeuu-d. 


ELEGY.  107 

At  Aix  his  voluntary  sword  he  drew, 
There  first  in  blood  his  infant  honour  scal'd  ; 

From  fortune,  pleasure,  science,  lo"e  he  flew, 
And  scorn'd  repose  when  Britain  took  the  field. 

With  eyes  of  flame,  and  cool  undaunted  breast, 
Victor  he  stood  on  Bellisle's  rocky  steeps 

Ah  !  gallant  youth !  this  marble  tells  the  rest, 
Where  melancholy  Friendship  bends,  and  weeps. 


ELEGY 
WRITTEN  IN  A  COUNTRY  CHURCHYARD. 

THE  Curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 
The  lowing  herds  wind  slowly  o'er  the  lea. 

The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 
And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds, 

Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight, 
And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds : 

Save  that  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 

Of  such  as,  wand'ring  near  her  secret  bower, 
Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign. 

Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade. 

Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mould'ring  heap. 
Each  in  his  narrow  cell  for  ever  laid, 

The  rude  Forefathers  of  the  Hamlet  sleep. 
The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  Morn, 

The  swallow  twitt'ring  from  the  straw-built  shed, 
The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn, 

No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed 
I 


108  ELEGY  WRITTEN  IN 

For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 
Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care  : 

No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return, 
Or  climb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 

Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield, 
Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke  \ 

How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  afield  ! 
How  bow'd  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke  ! 

Let  not  Ambition  m«ck  their  useful  toil, 
Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure  ; 

Nor  Grandeur  hear  with  a  disdainful  smile 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 
And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 

Await  alike  th' inevitable  hour: — 
The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

Nor  you,  ye  Proud,  impute  to  These  the  fault, 
If  Memory  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise, 

Where  through  the  long-drawn  aisle  and  fretted  vault 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 

Can  storied  urn  or  animated  bust 
Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath? 

Can  Honour's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust, 
Or  Flatt'ry  soothe  the  dull  cold  ear  of  Death  ? 

Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid 
Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire; 

Hands,  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  sway'd, 
Or  waked  to  ecstacy  the  living  lyre. 

But  knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time  did  ne'er  unroll  ; 

Chill  Penury  repress'd  their  noble  rage, 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul . 


A  COUNTRY  CHURCH- YARD.  109 

Full  many  a  gem,  of  purest  ray  serene. 
The  dark  unfathom'd  caves  of  ocean  bear  : 

Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 

Some  village-Hampden,  that  with  dauntless  breast 
The  little  Tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood  ; 

Some  mute  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest. 
Some  Cromwell  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood. 

Th"  applause  of  list'ning senates  to  command, 
The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise, 

To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  laud, 
And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes, 

Their  lot  forbade  :  nor  circumscribed  alone 
Their  growing  virtues,  but  their  crimes  confined  ; 

Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne, 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind. 

The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to  hide, 
To  quench  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  shame, 

Or  heap  the  shrine  of  Luxury  and  Pride 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's  flame. 

Far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learn 'd  to  stray ; 

Along  the  cool  sequester'd  vale  of  life 
They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way. 

Yet  ev'n  these  bones  from  -nsult  to  protect 
Some  frail  memorial  still  erected  nigh, 

With  uncouth  rhymes  and  shapeless  sculpture  deck'd, 
Implores  ihe  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 

Their  name,  their  years,  spelt  by  th'  unletterM  mus» 

The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply  : 

4nd  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews, 

That  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die. 


110  ELEGY  WRITTEN  IN 

For  who,  to  dumb  Forgetfulness  a  prey, 
This  pleasing  anxious  being  e'er  resign 'd, 

Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day, 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look  behind  f 

On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies, 
Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires  ; 

Ev'n  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  Nature  cries, 
Ev'nin  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires. 

For  thee,  who  mindful  of  th*  unhonour'd  Dead, 
Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate  ; 

If  chance,  by  lonely  Contemplation  led, 
Some  kindred  Spirit  shall  inquire  thy  fate. 

Haply  some  hoary-headed  Swain  may  say, 
'  Oft  have  we  seen  him  at  the  peej>  of  dawn 

Brushing  with  hasty  steps  the  dews  away, 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn. 

'There  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech 
That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic  roots  BO  high, 

His  listless  length  at  noontide  would  he  stretch, 
And  pore  upon  the  brook  tha;  babbles  by. 

*  Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling  as  in  scorn, 

Mutt'ring  his  way  ward  fancies  he  would  rove; 
Now  drooping,  woeful  wan,  like  one  forlorn, 
Or  crazed  with  care,  or  cross'd  in  hopeless  love. 

'  One  morn  I  miss'd  him  on  the  'custom'd  hill, 
Along  the  heath  and  near  his  fav'rite  tree  ; 

Another  came;  nor  yet  beside  the  rill, 
Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood  was  he ; 

*  The  next,  with  dirges  due  in  sad  array 

Slow  through  the  church-way  path  we  saw  him  borne. 
Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read)  the  lay 
Graved  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn. 


A  COUNTRY  CHURCH-YARD.  Ill 

THE  EPITAPH. 
HERE  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  Earth, 

A  Youth,  to  Fortune  and  to  Fame  unknown  ; 
Fair  Science  frown'd  not  on  his  humble  birth. 

And  Melancholy  mark'd  him  for  her  own. 
Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere, 

Heav'n  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send  : 
He  gave  to  Mis'ry  all  he  had,  a  tear, 

He  gain'd  from  Heav'n  ('twas  all  he  wish'd)  a  friend. 
No  farther  seek  his  merits  to  disclose, 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode 
(There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose). 

The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. 


VERSES 

ON 

THE  MARRIAGE  OF  HIS  ROYAL  HIGHNESS 
THE  PRINCE  OF  WALES. 

iG'NARf  nostrum  mentes,  et  inertia  cord  a, 

Dum  curas  regnm,  et  sortem  miseramur  iniquam, 

Quae  solio  affixit,  vetuitque  calescere  flamma 

Dulci,  quas  dono  divum,  gratissima  serpit 

Viscera  per,  mollesque  animis  lene  implicat  sestus  , 

Ncc  teneros  sensus,  Veneris  nee  przmia  norunt, 

Eloquiumve  oculi,  aut  facunda  silentia  linguae : 

Scilicit  ignorant  lacrymas,  saevosque  dolores, 

Dura  rudimenta,  et  violentiae  exordia  fiammz  ; 

Scilicit  ignorant,  quae  flumine  tinxit  ainaro 

Tela  Venus,  cacique  armamentaria  Divi, 

Irasque,  insidiasque,  et  taciturn  sub  pectore  volnus* 

Namque  sub  ingretsu,  pr.moque  in  limine  Amoris 


112  VERSES. 

Lnctus  et  ultrices  posuene  cubilia  Curae; 
Intus  habent  dulces  Risus,  et  Gratias  sedem, 
Et  roseis  resupina  toris,  roseo  ore  Voluptas: 
Regibus  hue  faciles  aditus  ;  communia  spcmunt 
Ostia,  jamque  expers  duris  custodibus  istis 
Panditur  accessus,  penetraliaque  intima  Terapli. 

Tuque  Oh  !  Angliacis,  Princeps,  spes  optima  regnis, 
Ne  tantum,  ne  finge  metum  ;  quid  imagine  captus 
Haeres,  et  meutem  pictura  pascis  inani  ? 
Umbrain  miraris  :  nee  longum  tempus,et  ipsa 
Ibit  in  amplexus,  thalarnosque  ornabit  ovantes. 
Ille  tamen  tabulis  inhians  longum  haurit  amorem, 
Affatu  fruitur  tacito,  auscultatque  tacentem 
Immemor  artincis  calami,  risumque,  ruboremque 
A  spicit  in  fucis,  pictaeque  in  virginis  ore : 
Tanta  Venus  potuit ;  tantus  tenet  error  amantes. 

Nascere,  magna  Dies,  qua  sese  Augusta  Britanno 
Committal  Pelago,  patriamque  relinquat  amoenam  j 
Cujus  in  adventum  jam  nunc  tria  regna  secundog 
Attolli  in  plausus,  dulcique  accensa  furore 
Incipiunt  agitare  modos,  etcarmina  dicunt: 
Ipse  animo  scdenim  juvenis  comitatur  euntem 
Explorat  ventos,  atque  auribus  aera  captat, 
Atque  auras,  atque  astra  vocat  crudelia  ;  pectus 
Intetituni  exuhat,  surgitque  arrecta  cupido  •, 
Incusat  spes  aegra  fretum,  solitoque  videtur 
Latior  effundi  pontus,  fructiisque  morantes. 

Nascere,  Lux  major,  qua  sesc  Augusta  Britanno 
Committal  juveni  totam,  propriamque  dicabit; 
At  citius  (prccor)  Oh  !  ccdas  mtlioribus  astris  : 
Nox  fmem  pompae,  finemque  impnnere  curis 
Pos«it,  et  in  thalamos  furtim  deducere  nuptam  ; 
Sufticiat  requieir.que  viris,  et  amantibus  umbrae} 


SONG.  113 

Ailsit  Hymen,  et  subridens  cum  matre  Cupido 
Accedant,  sternantque  toros,  ignemque  ininistrent ; 
Ilicet  baud  piclae  incandescit  iniaginae  forinae 
Ulterius  juvenis,  vcrumque  agnoscit  amorem. 

Sculptile  sicut  ebur,  faciemque  arsisse  venustam 
Pygmaliona  canunt ;  ante  hanc  suspiria  ducit, 
Alloquiturque  amens,  flammamque  et  vulnera  narrat  j 
Implorata  Venus  jussit  cum  vivere  signum, 
Foeminaeam  inspirans  animain  ;  quse  gaudia  surguut, 
Audiit  nt  primae  nasccntia  mnrmara  linguae, 
Luctari  in  vitam,  et  paulatim  volvere  ocellos 
Sedulus,  aspexitque  nova  splendescere  tiamma; 
Corripit  amplexu  vivam,  jamque  osculajungit 
Acria  confestim,  recipitque  rapitque  ;  prioris 
Immemor  ardoris,  Nymphaeque  oblitus  eburnae. 

THO.  GRAY,  Pet.  CoIJ 


SONG.» 

THYRSis,  when  he  left  me,  swore 
In  the  Spring  he  would  return. 

Ah  !  what  means  the  op'ning  flower  T 
And  the  bud  that  decks  the  thorn? 

Twas  the  nightingale  that  sung  ! 

Twas  the  lark  that  upward  sprung ' 

Idle  notes  !  untimely  green  ! 

Why  such  unavailing  haste  ? 
Gentle  gales  and  sky  serene 

Prove  not  always  Winter  past. 
Cease,  my  doubts,  my  fears  to  move- 
Spare  the  honour  of  my  love. 

•  At  the  r«que*t  of  HIM  Speed. 


114  IMPROMPTU 


•WITH  Beauty  ,with  Pleasure  surrounded,  to  lanpiish — 
Fo  weep  without  knowing  the  cause  of  my  anguish  ; 
To  startfrom  short  slumbers,  and  wish  for  the  morning— 
To  close  my  doll  eyes  when  I  see  it  returning  ; 
Sighs  sudden  and  frequent,  looks  ever  dejected — 
Words  that  steal  from  my  tongue,  by  no  meaning 

connected ! 

Ah,  say,  fellow-swains, bow  these  symptoms  befel  me  f 
They  smile,  but  reply  not — Sure  Delia  cau  tell  me  ! 


TOPHET: 

An  Epigram, 

[Mr.  EtoaKh,t  of  Cambridge  University,  was  remarkable  fnr  hi* 
errelltrlclUM  and  personal  appearance.  A  Mr.  Tyson  of  lit r.e'l 
College,  made  an  etching  of  his  head,  and  presented  it  to  Mr. '-ray. 
who  wrote  under  It  the  following  lines.} 

THUS  Tophet  look'd  ;  so  grinn'd  the  brawling  fiend, 
Whilst  frighted  prelates  bow'd,  and  call'd  him  friend. 
Our  mother-church,  with  half-averted  sight, 
Blnsh'd  as  she  bless'd  her  grisly  proselyte; 
Hosannas  rung  through  Hell's  tremendous  borders, 
And  Satan's  self  had  thoughts  of  taking  orders. 


IMPROMPTU, 

Suggested  by  a  View,  in  1766,  of  the  Seat  and  Ruins 

of  a  deceased  Nobleman,  at  Kingggate,  Kent. 
Ol.D,  and  abandon'd  by  each  venal  friend, 

Here  H d  form'd  the  pious  resolution 

To  smuggle  a  few  years,  and  strive  to  mend 
A  broken  character  and  constitution. 

•  These  lines  will  be  found  in  a  note  in  the  second  VO>-JBM  of 

Warton's  Edition  of  Pope's  Works. 
t  Gentleman's  Magazine,  Vol.  LVI.  p.  sa,  281. 


THE  CANDIDATE.  J 15 

On  this  congenial  spot  he  fix'd  his  choice; 

Earl  Goodwin  trembled  for  his  neighb'rine  sand  j 
Here  sea  gulls  scream,  and  cormorants  rejoice. 

And  mariners,  though  shipwreck'd,  dread  to  lard. 

Here  reign  the  blust'ring  North  and  blighting  Kast, 
No  tree  is  heard  to  whisper,  bird  to  sins: ', 

Vet  Nature  could  not  furnish  out  the  feast, 
Art  he  invokes  new  horrors  still  to  bring. 

Here  mould'ring  fanes  and  battlements  arise, 
Turrets  and  arches  nodding  to  their  fall ; 

Unpeopled  monast'ries  delude  our  eyes, 
And  mimic  desolation  covers  all. 

«  Ah!'  said  the  sighing  peer,  'had  B— te  been  true, 
Nor  M— '9,  R— 's,  B—'s  friendship  vain, 

Far  better  scenes  than  these  had  blest  our  view. 
And  realized  the  beauties  which  we  feign. 

*  Purged  by  the  sword,  and  purified  by  fire, 
Then  had  we  seen  proud  London's  hated  walls ; 

Owls  would  have  hooted  in  St.  Peter's  choir, 
And  foxes  stunk  and  litterM  in  St.  Paul's.' 


THE  CANDIDATE; 

OR,  THE  CAMBRIDGE  COURTSHIP. 

Written  a  thort  time  previous  to  the  election  nfa 
High  Steward. 

WHEN  sly  Jemmy  Twitcher  had  smugg'd  up  hi«  face, 
With  a  lick  of  court  white-wash,  and  pious  grimace, 
A  wooiug  he  went,  where  three  sisters  of  old 
In  harmless  society  guttle  and  scold. 


116  THE  CANDIDATE. 

«  Lord  !  nister,'  say*  Physic  to  Law,  «  I  declare, 
Such  a  sheep-biting  look,  such  a  pick-pocket  air. 
Not  I  for  the  Indies  ! — You  know  I'm  no  prude, — 
But  his  name  is  a  shame, — and  his  eyes  are  so  lewd  ! 
Then  he  shambles  and  straddles  so  oddly— I  fear — 
No — at  our  time  of  life  'twould  be  silly,  my  dear.' 

*  I  don't  know,'  says  Law, '  l>ut  methinks  for  his  look 
"fis  just  like  the  picture  in  Rochester's  book; 
Then  his  character,  Phizzy, — his  morals — bis  life— 
When  she  died,  I  can't  tell,  but  he  once  had  a  wife. 

They  say  he's  no  Christian,  loves  drinking  and  w g, 

And  all  the  town  rings  of  his  swearing  and  roaring  ! 
His  lying  and  niching,  and  Newgate-bird  tricks  ; — 
Not  I — for  a  coronet,  chariot  and  six.' 

Divinity  heard,  between  waking  and  dozing, 

Her  sisters  denying,  and  Jemmy  proposing: 

From  table  she  rose,  and  with  bumper  in  hand. 

She  stroked  up  her  belly,  and  stroked  down  her  band — 

'  What  a  pother  is  here  about  wenching  and  roaring  ! 

Why,  David  loved  catches,  and  Solomon  w g  : 

Did  not  Israel  filch  from  th'  Egyptians  of  old 
Their  jewels  of  silver  and  jewels  of  gold  ? 
The  prophet  of  Bethel,  we  read,  told  a  lie  : 
He  drinks — so  did  Noah; — he  swears — so  do  I: 
To  reject  him  for  such  peccadillos,  were  odd  ; 
Besides,  he  repents — for  he  talks  about  G"  j — 

[To  Jemmy.] 

Never  hang  down  your  head,  you  poor  penitent  elf} 
Come,  buss  me — I'll  be  Mrs.  Twitcher  myself. 


117 

SKETCH 
OP  HIS  OWN  CHARACTER.* 

Too  poor  for  a  bribe,  and  too  proud  to  importune  ; 

He  bad  not  tbe  method  of  making  a  fortune  : 

Could  love  and  could  bate,  so  was  thought  somewhat 

odd  ; 

No  very  great  Wit,  he  believed  in  a  God. 
A  post  or  a  pension  he  did  not  desire, 
But  left  church  and  state  to  Charles  Townshend  and 

Squire.  t 

•  Written  In  1761  ,  and  found  In  one  of  hi>  pocket-books. 
t  B«Uoa  of  SUJoUn'j,  College,  Cambridge,  Mid  afterward* 


Un'j,  Colleg 
BUhop  o/ 


118 
POEMS, 

ADDRESSED  TO,  AND  IN  MEMORY  OF 

MR.  GRAY. 


UPON  HIS  ODES. 
By  David  Garrick,  Etq. 
REPINE  not,  Gray,  that  oar  weak  dazzled  eye» 

Thy  daring  heights  and  brightness  shun; 
How  few  can  trace  the  eagle  to  the  skies, 

Or,  like  him,  gaze  upon  the  sun ! 
Eacn  gentle  reader  loves  the  gentle  Muse, 

That  little  dares  and  little  means ; 
Who  humbly  sips  her  learning  from  Reviews, 

Or  flutters  in  the  Magazines. 
No  longer  now  from  Learning's  sacred  store 

Our  minds  their  health  and  vigour  draw ; 
Homer  and  Pindar  are  revered  no  more, 

No  more  the  Stagyrite  is  law. 
Though  nursed  by  these,  in  vain  thy  Muse  appears 

To  breathe  her  ardours  in  our  souls; 
In  vain  to  sightless  eyes  and  deaden'd  ears 

The  lightning  gleams,  the  thunder  rolls : 
Yet  droop  not,  Gray,  nor  quit  thy  heaven-born  art  j 

Again  thy  wond'rous  powers  reveal ; 
Wake  slumb'ring  Virtue  in  the  Briton's  heart, 

And  rouse  us  to  reflect  and  feel ! 
With  ancient  ;"eeds  our  long-chill'd  bosoms  fire, 

Those  deeds  that  mark  Eliza's  reign? 
Make  Britons  Greeks  again,  then  strike  the  lyre, 

And  Pindar  shall  not  sing  in  vain. 


119 

ON  THE  BACKWARDNESS  OF  SPRING. 
By  the  late  Mr.  Richard  Weit. 

DEAR  Gray,  that  always  in  my  heart 
Possesses t  far  the  better  part. 
What  mean  these  sudden  blasts  that  rise 
And  drive  the  Zephyrs  from  the  skies? 
O  join  with  mine  thy  tuneful  Iny, 
And  invocate  the  tardy  May. 

Come,  fairest  Nymph,  resume  thy  reign  I 
Bring  all  the  Graces  in  thy  train  ' 
With  balmy  breath  and  flowery  tread, 
Rise  from  thy  soft  ambrosial  bed  ; 
Where,  in  Ely  si  an  slumber  bound, 
Embow'ring  myrtles  veil  thee  round. 
Awake,  in  all  thy  glories  drest, 
Recall  the  Zephyrs  from  the  west ; 
Restore  the  sun,  revive  the  skies, 
At  mine,  and  Nature's  call,  arise  ! 
Great  Nature's  self  upbraids  thy  stay. 
And  misses  her  accustom'd  May. 

See  !  all  her  works  demand  thy  aid ; 
The  labours  of  Pomona  fade  : 
A  plaint  is  heard  from  ev'ry  tree ; 
Each  budding  flow'ret  calls  for  thee; 
The  birds  forget  to  love  and  sing ; 
With  storms  alone  the  forests  ring. 

Come,  then,  with  Pleasure  at  thy  side, 
Diffuse  thy  vernal  spirit  wide  ; 
Create,  where'er  thou  turn'st  thine  eye. 
Peace,  Plenty,  Love,  and  Harmony  : 
Till  ev'ry  being  share  its  part, 
And  Heaven  and  Earth  be  glad  at  heart. 


120 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  GRAY. 

Me  qnoque  Muoaruin  itudlum  «ub  nocte  silent! 

Anibus  assuclis  solicitare  solet.  Claudia*. 

ENOUGH  of  fabling,  and  th*  unhallow'd  haunU 

Of  Dian'  and  of  Delia,  name*  profane. 

Since  not  Diana  nor  all  Delia's  train 

Aie  subjects  that  befit  a  serious  song ; 

For  who  the  bards  among 

May  but  compare  with  thee,  lamented  Gray ! 

Whose  pensive,  solemn  lay, 

Drew  all  the  listening  shepherds  in  a  ring, 

Well  pleased  to  hear  thee  sing 

Thy  moving  notes,  on  sunny  hill  or  plain, 

And  catch  new  grace  from  thy  immortal  strain. 

O  wood-hung  Mena'i,  and  ye  sacred  groves 

Of  Delphi,  we  still  venerate  your  names, 

Whose  awful  shades  inspired  the  Druids'  dreams. 

Your  recess,  though  imagined,  Fancy  loves, 

And  through  these  long-lost  scenes  delighted  roves  : 

So  future  bards  perhaps  shall  sing  of  Thames, 

And  as  they  sing  shall  say, 

'Twas  there  of  old  where  mused  illustrious  Gray  ! 

By  Isis'  banks  his  tuneful  lays  would  suit, 

To  Pindar's  lofty  lyre,  or  Sappho's  Lesbian  lute 

Oft  would  he  sing,  when  the  still  Eve  came  on, 
Till  sable  Night  resumed  her  ebon  throne, 
And  taught  us,  in  his  melancholic  mood, 
To  scorn  the  great,  and  love  the  wise  and  good  ; 
Told  us,  'twas  virtue  never  dies, 
And  to  what  ills  frail  mankind  open  lies; 
How  safe  through  life's  tempestuous  sea  to  steer, 
Where  dang'rous  rocks,  and  shelves  and  whirlpools,  oft 
appear. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  GRAY.    121 

And  when  fair  Morn  arose  again  to  view, 

A  fairer  landscape  still  he  drew, 

That  blooms  like  Eden  in  his  charming  lays. 

The  hills  and  dales,  and  Heav'n's  cerulean  blue» 

lirigl.ten'd  o'er  all  by  Sol's  resplendent  ray* 

The  musky  gale,  in  rosy  vale, 

And  gilded  clouds  on  azure  hills, 

The  fragrant  bow'rs,  and  painted  flow'rs, 

And  tinklings  of  the  silver  rills ; 

The  very  insects,  that  in  sunbeams  play, 

Turn  useful  monitors  in  his  grave  moral  lay. 

But  ah  !  sad  Melancholy  intervenes, 

And  draws  a  cloud  o'er  all  these  shining  scenes 

Tis  her,  alas  !  we  often  find 

The  troubler  of  each  great  unbounded  mind, 

And,  leagued  with  her  associate  Fsar 

Will  tremble  lest  the  turning  sphere. 

And  sinking  earth,  and  reeling  plajtets  ran 

In  dire  disorder  with  the  falling  sun. 

But  now,  great  Bard,  thy  life  of  pain  is  o'er ; 

Tis  we  must  weep,  though  thou  shalt  grieve  no  more. 

Through  other  scenes  thou  now  dost  rove, 

And  clothed  with  gladness  walk'st  the  courts  above 

And  listen's!  to  the  heavenly  choir, 

Hymning  their  God,  while  seraphs  strike  the  lyrs. 

Safe  with  them  in  those  radiant  climes  of  bliss, 

Thou  now  enjoy'st  eternal  happiness. 


122 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR   GRAY. 
By  the  Earl  of  Carlisle. 

WHAT  tpirit's  that  which  mounts  on  high, 
Borne  on  the  arms  of  every  tuneful  Muse  ? 

His  white  robes  flutter  to  the  gale : 
They  wing  their  way  to  yonder  opening  sky, 

In  glorious  state  through  yielding  clouds  they  sail, 
And  scents  of  heavenly  flowers  on  earth  diffuse. 

What  avails  the  poet's  art? 

What  avails  his  magic  hand  ? 
Can  he  arrest  Death's  pointed  dart, 

Or  charm  to  sleep  his  murderous  band  ? 
Well  I  know  thee,  gentle  shade  ! 

That  tuneful  voice,  that  eagle  eye — 
Quick  bring  me  flowers  that  ne'er  shall  fade, 

The  laurel  wreath  that  ne'er  shall  die ; 
With  every  honour  deck  his  funeral  bisr, 
For  he  to  every  Grace  and  every  Muse  was  dear' 

The  listening  Dryad,  with  attention  still, 
On  tiptoe  oft  would  near  the  poet  steal, 

To  hear  him  sing  upon  the  lonely  hill 
Of  all  the  wonders  of  th'  expanded  vale, 

The  distant  hamlet,  and  the  winding  stream, 
The  steeple  shaded  by  the  friendly  yew, 

Sunk  in  the  wood  tho  sun's  departing  gleam, 
The  grey-robed  landscape  stealing  from  the  view. 

*0r  wrapt  in  solemn  thought,  and  pleasine  woe, 
O'er  each  low  tomb  he  breathed  his  pious  strain, 
A  lesson  to  the  village  swain, 

And  taught  the  tear  of  rustic  grief  to  flow ! — 
•  Alludinjf  to  Mr.  Graj's  Elegy  written  in  a  Country  Church-yard. 


IN  MEMORY  OF  MR.  GRAY.  123 

•But  soon  with  bolder  note,  and  wilder  flight, 
O'er  the  loud  strings  his  rapid  hand  would  ran  : 
Mars  hath  lit  his  torch  of  war. 

Ranks  of  heroes  fill  the  sight ! 
Hark  !  the  carnage  is  begun  ! 

And  see  the  furies  through  the  fiery  air  [bear. 

O'er  Cambria's  frighten'd  land  the  screams  of  horror 

fNow,  led  by  playful  Fancy's  hand, 
O'er  the  white  surge  he  treads  with  printless  feet, 

To  magic  shores  he  flies,  and  fairy  land, 
Imagination's  blest  retreat. 

Here  roses  paint  the  crimson  way. 

No  setting  sun,  eternal  May. 
Wild  as  the  priestess  of  the  Thracian  fane, 
When  Bacchus  leads  the  maddening  train, 
His  bosom  glowing  with  celestial  are, 
To  harmony  he  struck  the  goidcn  lyre  ; 

To  harmony  each  hill  and  valley  rung! 

The  bird  of  Jove,  as  when  Apollo  lung, 

To  melting  bliss  resign'd  his  furious  soul, 

With  milder  rage  his  eyes  began  to  roll. 

The  heaving  down  his  thrilling  joys  confest, 
Till  by  a  mortal's  hand  subdued  he  sunk  to  rest. 
tO,  guardian  angel  of  our  early  day, 

Henry,  thy  darling  plant  must  bloom  no  more  ! 
By  thee  attended,  pensive  would  he  stray,      [shore. 

Where  Thames,  soft-murmuring,  laves  his  winding 
Thou  bad'st  him  raise  the  moralizing  song, 

Through  life's  new  seas  the  little  bark  to  steer; 
The  winds  are  rude  and  high,  the  sailor  young; 

Thoughtless,  he  spies  no  furious  tempest  near, 
Till  to  the  poet's  hand  the  helm  you  gave, 
From  hidden  rocks  an  infant  crew  to  save  ! 

•  The  Bard,  a  Pindaric  Ode. 
«  The  PmgreM  of  Poetry,  a  Pindaric  Ode. 
t  Ode  on  a  diilant  Prospect  of  Eton  Coileg*. 


124  IN  MEMORY  OF  MR.  GRAY. 

•Ye  fiends  who  rankle  in  the  human  heart, 
Delight  in  woe,  and  triumph  in  our  tears, 
Resume  again 
Your  dreadful  reign : 

Prepare  the  iron  scourge,  prepare  the  venom'd  dart, 
Adversity  no  more  with  lenient  air  appears  ; 
The  snakes  that  twine  about  her  head 
Again  their  frothy  poison  shed ; 
For  who  can  now  her  whirlwind  flight  control, 

Her  threatening  rage  beguile  ? 
He  who  could  still  the  tempest  of  her  soul, 
And  force  her  livid  lips  to  smile. 

To  happier  seats  is  fled ! 
Now  seated  by  his  Thracian  sire, 
At  the  full  feast  of  mighty  Jove 
To  heavenly  themes  attunes  his  lyre, 

And  fills  with  harmony  the  realms  above  t 


LINES 
TO  THE   MEMORY   OF   MR.   GRAY. 

Extracted  from  the  thirl  book  of 
MASON'S     «  ENGLISH     GARDEN. 

CLOSED  is  that  curious  ear  by  death's  cold  hand, 
That  mark'd  each  error  of  my  careless  strain 
With  kind  severity ;  to  whom  my  muse 
Still  loved  to  whisper,  what  she  meant  to  sing 
In  louder  accent ;  to  whose  taste  supreme 
She  first  and  last  appeal 'd,  nor  wish'd  for  praise. 
Save  when  his  smile  was  herald  to  her  fame. 

*  Hymn  to  Adveriity. 


IN  MEMORY  OF  MR.  GRAY.  135 

Yes,  thou  art  gone ;  yet  friendship's  falt'ring  tongue 
Invokes  thee  still;  and  still,  by  fancy  soothed, 
Fain  would  she  hope  hor  Gray  attends  the  call. 
Why  then,  alas  '  in  this  my  fav'rite  haunt. 
Place  I  the  urn,  the  bust,  the  sculptured  lyre, 
Or  fix  this  votive  tablet,  fair  inscribed 
With  numbers  worthy  thee,  for  they  are  thine  T 
Why,  if  thou  hear'st  me  still,  those,  symbols  sad 
Of  fond  memorial?  Ah!  my  pensive  soul! 
He  hears  me  not,  nor  ever  more  shall  hear 
The  theme  his  candour,  not  hid  taste,  approved. 

Oft, '  smiling  as  in  scorn,'  oft  would  he  cry, 
'  Why  waste  thy  numbers  on  a  trivial  art, 
That  ill  can  mimic  ev'n  the  humblest  charm* 
Of  all-majestic  Nature  ?'  At  the  word 
His  eye  would  glisten,  and  his  accents  glow 
With  all  the  Poet's  frenzy, '  Sov'reign  queen! 
Jiehold,  and  tremble,  while  thou  view'st  her  state 
Throned  on  the  heights  of  Skiddaw  :  call  thy  art 
To  build  her  such  a  throne  ;  that  art  will  feel 
Ilo.w  vain  her  best  pretensions.    Trace  her  march 
Amid  the  purple  crags  of  Borrowdale ; 
And  try  like  those  to  pile  thy  range  of  rock 
In  rude  tumultuous  chaos.    See  !  she  mounts 
Her  Naiad  car,  and,  down  Lodore's  dread  cliff 
Falls  many  a  fathom,  like  the  headlong  bard 
My  fabling  fancy  plunged  in  Conway's  flood  j 
Yet  not  like  him  to  sink  in  endless  night: 
For,  on  its  boiling  bosom,  still  she  guides 
Her  buoyant  shell,  and  leads  the  wave  along ; 
Or  spreads  it  broad,  a  river,  or  a  lake, 
As  sin's  her  pleasure  ;  will  thy  boldest  song 
E'er  brace,  the  sinews  of  enervate  art 
To  such  dread  daring  ?  will  it  ev'n  direct 
Her  hand  to  emulate  those  softer  charm* 


126  IN  MEMORY  OF  MR.  GRAY. 

That  deck  the  banks  of  Dore,  or  call  to  birth 
The  bare  romantic  crags,  and  copses  green, 
That  sidelong  grace  her  circuit,  whence  the  rills, 
Bright  in  their  crystal  purity,  descend 
To  meet  their  sparkling  queen  ?  around  each  fount 
The  hawthorns  crowd,  and  knit  their  blossom'd  spray* 
To  keep  their  sources  sacred.     Here,  even  here, 
Thy  art,  each  active  sinew  stretch'd  in  vain, 
Would  perish  in  its  pride.    Far  rather  thou 
Confess  her  scaaty  power,  correct,  control, 
Tell  her  how  far,  iior  farther,  she  may  go  ! 
And  rein  with  reason's  curb  fantastic  taste.' 

Yes,  I  will  hear  thee,  dear  lamented  shade, 
And  hold  each  dictate  sacred.    What  remains 
Unsung  shall  so  each  leading  rule  select 
As  if  still  guided  by  thy  judgment  sage; 
While,  as  still  modell'd  to  thy  curious  ear, 
Flow  my  melodious  numbers ;  so  shall  praise, 
If  aught  of  praise  the  verse  I  weave  may  claim, 
From  just  posterity  reward  my  song. 


FRAGMENT 
ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  GRAY. 

FAIR  are  the  gardens  of  the  Aonian  mount, 
And  sweet  those  blooming  flow'rs 
Which  paint  the  Maiden's  bow'rs ; 
And  clear  the  waters  of  the  gurgling  fount ! 
Swift  they  wind  through  chequer'd  allies  ; 
Huddling  down  to  th'  open  valleys  ; 
Where  the  quick  ripple  in  the  sunbeams  plays. 
Turning  to  endless  forms  each  glance  of  twinkling 
blaze. 


IN  MEMORY  OF  MR.  GRAY.  127 

O'er  the  gay  scene  lh'  enamour'd  inmates  roam  > 

And  gather  fresh  ideas  as  they  rise 

From  Nature's  manifold  supplies. 

Alas  1  for  whom  ! 
Many  a  gleam  of  sprightly  thought, 

>;  any  a  sad  and  sable  mood, 
Whether  from  dazzling  lustre  brought, 

Or  nursed  by  shades  of  darksome  wood, 
Keep  death-like  silence  on  their  native  shore. 
Since  he  that  gave  them  speech,  is  heard  no  more. 

Flown  is  the  spirit  of  Gray, 
Like  common  breath  to  mingle  with  the  sir : 
Yet  still  those  Goddesses'  peculiar  care, 

That  breathe  harmonious  lay. 
Retired  to  yonder  grassy  mound 
In  leaves  of  dusky  hue  encompass'd  round, 

They  bid  their  plaintive  accents  fill 

The  covert  hollows  of  the  bosom'd  hill  : 

With  liquid  voice  and  magic  hand 

Calliope  informs  the  band  : 

Hush'd  are  the  warblers  of  the  grove,  attentive  to  the 
sound. 

'  Soft  and  slow 

Let  the  melting  measures  flow, 
Nor  lighter  air  disturb  majestic  woe. 

And  thon,  »age  Priestess*  of  our  holy  fire, 

Who  saw'st  the  Poet's  flame  expire. 

Thy  precious  drops  profusely  shed 

O'er  his  well -deserving  head. 

Thou  nurtur'dst  ouce  a  grateful  throng, 

When  Milton  pour'd  the  sweets  of  song, 
On  Lycidat  sunk  low. 

•  Cambridge  Uimersltjr,  where  Onj  dtod. 


138  IN  MEMORY  OF  MR.  GRAY. 

'Now  wake  the  faithful  lyre mute  Dulness  reigns; 

Your  echoes  waft  no  more  the  friendly  theme : 
Clogg'd  with  thick  vapours  from  the  neighb'ring  plain*. 

Where  old  Cam  hardly  moves  his  sluggard  stream. 

But  when  some  public  cause 
Claims  festive  song  or  more  melodious  tear, 
Discordant  murmurs  grate  mine  ear. 
Ne'er  modell'd  by  Pierian  laws. 
Then  idly  glares  full  many  a  motley  toy, 
Anacreontic  grief,  and  creeping  strains  of  joy. 

*  Far  other  modes  were  thine, 

Victim  of  hasty  fate, 
Whom  now  the  powers  of  melody  deplore} 

Whether  in  lofty  stateB 

Thou  bad'st  thy  train  divine 

Of  raptures  on  Pindaric  pinions  soar : 

Or  hoping  from  thyself  to  fly 

To  childhood'!  careless  scenes,! 
Thou  seni'st  a  warm  refreshing  eye 
On  Nature's  faded  greens: 

*  Or  when  thy  calm  and  steadfast  mind 

With  philosophic  reach  profound 
Self-pleasing  vanities  resign'd, 

Fond  of  the  look,  that  love*  the  ground  ;  J 
Disccm'd  by  Reason's  equal  light, 
How  gaudy  Fortune  cheats  the  sight ; 
While  the  coarse  maid,  innured  to  pain, 
Supports  the  lab'ring  heart,  and  Virtue's  happiest  reign 

'  But  most  the  music  of  thy  plantive  moan§ 
With  lengthened  note  detains  the  list'niag  ear, 

As  lost  in  thought  thou  wander'st  all  alone 

Where  spirits  hover  round  their  mansions  drear. 

•  Sre  Gray1*  Pindaric  OJn, 
«  Oclr  on  a  .li-iiini  p.ucptxt  of  Ktou  College. 
J  Hyuui  to  AUvei*,»y.  t Church-yard 


DC  MEMORY  OF  MR   GRAY.  129 

'  By  Contemplation's  eye  serenely  view'd, 

Each  lowiy  object  wears  an  awful  mien  : 
Tis  our  own  bimdness  veils  the  latent  good: 

The  works  ot  Nature  need  but  to  be  seen. 
'  Thou  saw'tt  hei  beaming  from  the  hamlet-sires 

Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree' t  shade  ; 
Where  now.  still  faitbful  to  their  wonted  fire*,* 

Thy  owa  dear  ashes  areybr  ever  laid.' 


STANZAS 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  GRAY. 

By  a  Lady. 
WHERE  sleeps  the  Bard  who  graced  Museus'  hearse 

With  fragrant  trophies  by  the  Muses  wove  ! 
Shall  Gray's  cold  urn  in  vain  demand  the  verse, 

Oh  !  can  his  Mason  fail  in  plaintive  love  ? 
No  ;  with  the  Nine  inwrapp_'d  in  social  woe, 

His  lyre  unstrung,  sad  vigil  he  must  keep ; 
With  them  he  mourns,  with  them  his  eyes  o'erflow, 

For  such  a  Bard  immortal  Maids  can  weep. 
Their  early  pupil  in  the  heav'nly  lore 

Of  sacred  poesy  and  moral  song, 
They  taught  the  youth  on  eagle  wing  to  soar, 

And  bore  him  through  aerial  heights  along. 
Fancy,  obedient  to  the  dread  command, 

With  brilliant  Genius,  marshall'd  forth  his  way  : 
They  lured  his  steps  to  Cambria's  once-famed  land, 

And  sleeping  Druids  felt  his  magic  lay. 
But  vain  the  magic  lay,  the  warbling  lyre, 

Imperious  Death!  from  thy  fell  grasp  to  save; 
He  knew,  and  told  it  with  a  Poet's  fire, 

'  The  paths  of  glony  lead  but  to  the  grave.' 
*  Gray  was  buried  at  StoV  e,  the  scene  of  the  Elegy. 
G  2 


130  IN  MEMORY  OF  MR.  GRAY. 

And  shall  the  Bard,  whose  sympathizing  mind 

Mourn'd  o'er  the  simple  rustic's  turfy  cell, 
To  strew  his  tomb  no  grateful  mourner  find. 

No  village  swain  to  ring  one  parting  knell ! 
Yes,  honour'd  shade !  the  fringed  brook  I'll  trace, 

Green  rushes  culling  thy  dank  grave  to  strew  ; 
With  mountain  flow'rs  I'll  deck  the  hallo w'd  place. 

And  fence  it  round  with  osiers  mix'd  with  yew. 


THE  TEARS  OF  GENIUS: 

AN  ODE. 

By  Mr.  Taite. 

ON  Cam's  fair  banks,  where  Learning's  hallow'd  fane 

Majestic  rises  on  the  astonish'd  sight, 
Where  oft  the  Muse  has  led  the  favourite  swain, 

And  warm'd  his  soul  with  Heaven's  inspiring  light. 

Beneath  the  covert  of  the  sylvan  shade, 

Where  deadly  cypress,  mix'd  with  mournful  yew, 

Far  o'er  the  vale  a  gloomy  stillness  spread, 
Celestial  Genius  burst  upon  the  view. 

The  bloom  of  youth,  the  majesty  of  years. 
The  soften'd  aspect,  innocent  and  kind, 

The  sigh  of  sorrow,  and  the  streaming  tears, 
Resistless  all,  their  various  pow'r  combined. 

In  her  fair  hand  a  silver  harp  she  bore, 

Whose  magic  notes,  soft-warbling  from  the  string, 

Give  tranquil  joy  the  breast  ne'er  knew  before, 
Or  raise  the  soul  on  rapture's  airy  wing. 

By  grief  impelled,  I  heard  her  heave  a  sigh, 

While  thus  the  rapid  strain  resounded  through  the  sky  ; 


IN  MEMORY  OF  MR.  GRAY.  131 

Haste,  ye  sister  powers  of  song, 

Hasten  from  the  shady  grove, 
Where  the  river  rolls  along, 

Sweetly  to  the  voice  of  love. 

Where,  indulging  mirthful  pleasures, 
Light  you  press  the  flow'ry  green, 

And  from  Flora's  blooming  treasures 
Cull  the  wreaths  for  Fancy's  queen. 

Where  your  gently-flowing  numbers, 
Floating  on  the  fragrant  breeze, 

Sink  the  soul  in  pleasing  slumbers 
On  the  downy  bed  of  ease. 

For  graver  strains  prepare  the  plantive  lyre, 
That  wakes  the  softest  feelings  of  the  soul ; 

Let  lonely  Grief  the  melting  verse  inspire, 
Let  deep'ning  Sorrow's  solemn  accents  roll. 

Rack'd  by  the  hand  of  rude  Disease 

Behold  our  fav'rite  Poet  lies ! 
While  every  object  form'd  to  please 

Far  from  his  couch  ungrateful  flies. 

The  blissful  Muse,  whose  favouring  smile 

So  lately  warm'd  his  peaceful  breast, 
Diffusing  heavenly  joys  the  while, 

In  Transport's  radiant  garments  drest, 
With  darksome  grandeur  and  enfeebled  blaze. 
Sinks  in  the  shades  of  night,  and  shuns  his  eager  gaze. 

The  gaudy  train,  who  wait  on  Spring,* 

Tinged  with  the  pomp  of  vernal  pride, 
The  youths  who  mount  on  Pleasure's  wing.t 

And  idly  sport  on  Thames's  side, 
With  cool  regard  their  various  arts  employ, 
Nor  rouse  the  drooping  mind,  nor  give  the  pause  of  joy. 

•  Ode  on  Sprint. 
•»  Ode  on  the  I'roipccl  of  Eton  CuUrge. 


132  IN  MEMORY  OF  MR.  GRAY. 

Ha !  what  forms,  with  port  sublime,* 

Glide  along  in  sullen  mood. 
Scorning  all  the  threats  of  time, 

High  above  Misfortune's  flood . 

They  seize  their  harps,  they  strike  the  lyre 

With  rapid  hand,  with  freedom's  fire. 

Obedient  Nature  hears  the  lofty  sound, 

And  Snowdon's  airy  cliffs  the  heavenly  strains  resound. 

In  pomp  of  state,  behold  they  wait, 

With  arms  outstretch'd,  and  aspects  kind, 
To  snatch  on  high  to  yonder  sky, 
The  child  of  Fancy  left  behind  : 
Forgot  the  woes  of  Cambria's  fatal  day, 
By  rapture's  blaze  impeli'd,  they  swell  the  artless  lav. 

But  ah  '  in  vain  they  strive  to  soothe, 
With  gentle  arts,  the  tort'ring  hours  ; 

Adversity,-)-  with  rankling  tooth, 
Her  baleful  gifts  profusely  pours. 

Behold  she  comes,  the  fiend  forlorn, 
Array'd  in  Horror's  settled  gloom  ; 
She  strews  the  briar  and  prickly  thorn, 
And  triumphs  in  th'  infernal  doom. 
With  frantic  fury  and  insatiate  rage 
She  gnaws  the  throbbing  breast  and  blasts  the  glow 
ing  page. 

No  more  the  soft  ^Eolian  flute  J 

Breathes  through  the  heart  the  melting  strai  u  • 
The  powers  of  Harmony  are  muta 

Aad  leave  the  once-delightful  plain  \ 
With  heavy  wing,  I  see  them  beat  the  air, 
Damp'd  by  the  leaden  hand  of  comfortless  Despair. 

•  The  Baro,  in  Ode. 
t  Hymn  to  Ailversiiy. 
i  The  Progress  of  I'owjr. 


IN  MEMORY  OF  MR.  GRAY.  133 

Yet  stay,  O  !  stay,  celestial  pow'rs, 

And  with  a  baud  of  kind  regard 
Dispel  the  boist'rous  storm  that  louts 

Destructive  on  the  fav'rite  bard  ; 
O  watch  with  me  his  last  expiring  breath, 
And  snatch  him  from  the  arms  of  dark,  oblivions  death. 

Hark  !  the  Fatal  Sisters*  join. 
And  with  Horror's  mutt'ring  sounds, 

Weave  the  tissue  of  his  line, 

While  the  dreadful  spell  resounds. 

*  Hail,  ye  midnight  sisters,  hail ! 

Drive  the  shuttle  swift  along  ; 
Let  your  secret  charms  prevail 

O'er  the  valiant  and  the  strong. 

'O'er  the  glory  of  the  land, 

O'er  the  innocent  and  gay, 
O'er  the  Muse's  tuneful  band — 

Weave  the  fun'ral  web  of  Gray/ 

Tis  done,  'tis  done — the  iron  hand  of  wain, 
With  ruthless  fury  and  corrosive  force, 

Racks  every  joint,  and  seizes  every  vein  : 
He  sints,  he  groans,  he  falls  a  lifeless  corse. 

Thus  fades  the  flow'r  nipp'd  bv  the  frozen  gale. 
Though  once  so  sweet,  so  lovely  to  the  eye  : 

Thus  the  tall  oaks,  when  boist'rous  storms  assail, 
Torn  from  the  earth,  a  mighty  ruin  lie. 

Ye  sacred  sisters  of  the  plaintive  verse, 
Now  let  the  stream  of  fond  affection  flow  ; 

O  pay  your  tribute  o'er  the  slow-drawn  hearse. 
With  all  the  manly  dignity  of  woe. 

•  The  FaUl  Stolen,  an  Ode. 


134  IN  MEMORY  OF  MR.  GRAY. 

Oft  when  the  curfew  tolls  its  parting  knell 

With  solemn  pause  yon  Church-yard's  gloom  survey, 

While  Sorrow's  sighs  and  tears  of  Pity  tell 
How  just  the  moral  of  the  Poet's  lay." 

O'er  his  green  grave,  in  Contemplation's  guise, 

Oft  let  the  pilgrim  drop  a  silent  tear: 
Oft  let  the  shepherd's  tender  accents  rise, 

Big  with  the  sweets  of  each  revolving  year ; 
Till  prostrate  Time  adore  his  deathless  name, 
Fix'd  on  the  solid  base  of  adamantine  fame. 


EPITAPH 

ON 

MR.   GRAY'S    MONUMENT 

IM  WESTMINSTER  ABBEV. 
By  Mr.  Mason. 

No  more  the  Grecian  Muse  unrivall'd  reigns ; 

To  Britain  let  the  nations  homage  pay  ! 
She  boasts  a  Homer's  fire  in  Milton's  strains, 

A  Pindar's  rapture  in  the  lyre  of  Gray. 

•  Dm  in  a  Country  Church-yard. 


THE 

POETICAL    WORKS 

OP 

JAMES    BEATTIE,    L.  L.  D. 


LIFE  OF  BEATTIE. 

THE  subject  of  the  present  memoir  was  born  in  1735, 
at  Lawrence  Kirk  in  the  county  of  Kincardine.  His 
father  seems  to  have  been  a  person  in  many  respects 
superior  to  his  rank  in  life.  Though  only  the  tenant  of 
an  inconsiderable  farm,  and  consequently  filling  a  sta- 
tion in  society  very  little  favourable  to  the  cultivation 
of  a  taste  for  literature,  he  is  said  to  have  possessed  a 
fondness  for  books,  and  to  have  exhibited  a  decided 
talent  for  poetical  composition.  Young  Beattie  was  not 
yet  ten  years  old  when  his  father  died  :  but  they  who 
know  how  soon  the  first  impulse  is  given  to  the  mind ; 
how  deeply  every  early  impression  is  stamped  upon  the 
character ;  and  how  tenaciously  the  good  and  evil  of  the 
parent  cling  about  the  child,  may.  perhaps,  be  inclined 
to  attribute  somewhat  of  the  celebrity  of  the  man  to  the 
example  and  the  instructions  which  were  presented  to 
the  opening  ger,  -.4  i  -ji<j  >  r\ 

After  the  loss  of  this  invaluable  patent,  our  poet 
found  a  kind  and  fatherly  protector  in  his  elder  brother ; 
who  placed  him  at  a  school  in  his  native  place,  and 
continued  him  there,  under  a  tutor  of  the  name  of  Milne, 
till,  in  1749,  he  obtained  a  btr.taiy  a  t!..»  Marischal 
College,  Aberdeen.  This  exhibition,  which  is  said  to 
have  been  the  best  in  the  university,  did  not  produce 
him  more  than  five  pounds  a-ycar.  Beattie  was  not 
more  distinguished  for  his  diligent  attention  to  the  stu- 
dies of  the  place,  than  for  the  moral  propriety  of  his 
conduct.  In  this  period  of  his  life  he  laid  t  .e  founda- 
tion of  that  various  and  useful  learning  which  he  after- 
ward brought  forward  so  effectively  in  the  course  of  his 
literary  life.  The  only  science  from  which  he  was 
averse  was  the  mathematics.  In  this  he  attained  no 
extraordinary  proficiency.  He  scrupulously  performed 
all  that  was  required  of  him  by  the  regulations  of  the 
college  ;  but  it  was  by  an  effort  of  duty,  not  MI  impulse 
of  inclination.  It  presented  him  with  all  the  labour  and 
none  of  the  sweets  of  study;  ami  after  the  appointed 
task  was  completed,  be  returned  with  redoubled  eager 


138  LIFE  OFBEATTIE 

ness  to  subjects  which  were  more  in  unison  with  the 
ardour  of  his  affections  and  the  liveliness  of  his  imagi- 
nation. His  exemplary  conduct,  and  the  decided  marks 
of  ability  that  he  displayed  in  the  course  of  his  college 
life,  secured  to  him  the  favour  of  the  Professors 
Biackwell  and  Gerard,  under  whose  instruction  he  more 
immediately  fell  from  his  situation  in  the  university. 
In  1750  he  obtained  the  preminm  for  the  best  Greek 
analysis  of  the  fourth  book  of  the  Odyssey,  and,  after 
completing  the  appointed  course  of  study,  he  was,  in 
1753,  graduated  as  Master  of  Arts,  which  in  the  Scotch 
universities  is  the  first  degree  conferred. 

Immediately  on  his  leaving  college  he  was  appointed 
master  of  the  school  of  Fordoun,  the  parish  adjoining 
Lawrence-Kirk.  While  in  this  obscure  and  humble 
situation,  he  published  in  the  Scottish  Magazine,  a  few 
pieces  of  poetry. 

These  productions,  though  marked  by  very  slight  in- 
dications of  the  talent  which  their  author  subsequently 
displayed,  obtained  him  some  local  fame,  and  were  the 
means  of  making  him  known  as  a  meritorious  and  in- 
genious young  man  to  Mr.  Garden,  an  eminent  Scottish 
lawyer,  and  to  the  o.;lebrated  Lord  Monboddo.  By 
these  his  flrst  patrons  Beattie  was  introduced  to  the 
tables  of  the  gentry  nf  his  immediate  neighbourhood, 
ami  was  received  with  kindness  and  consideration  in 
those  higher  classes  of  society,  to  which  it  is  very  un- 
usual for  the  parochial  schoolmaster  to  obtain  the 
honour  of  admittance. 

Beattie  had  not  been  master  of  the  school  of  Fordoun 
above  four  years,  when  he  became  candidate  for  the 
mastership  of  the  high  school  of  Aberdeen;  but  failed 
in  his  application.  It  is  said  that  his  successful  compe- 
titor was  his  superior  in  the  minutiae  of  the  Latin 
grammar.  His  reputation  for  scholarship  did  not,  how- 
ever, appear  to  have  been  in  any  degree  compromised 
by  his  defeat ;  and  in  the  next  vacancy  he  was  elected 
hv  the  magistrates  without  any  second  examinations 
having  bee.n  required. 

This  appointment  was  rather  desirable  to  Beattie,  on 
account  of  its  placing  him  in  the  midst  of  a  literary  so- 
ciety, and  affording  him  an  easy  access  to  books,  than 
from  the  prospect  of  us  pecuniary  emoluments.  He  had 


LIFE    OF    BEATT1E.  133 

not  been  long  in  possession  of  this  situation  when  Ke 
committed  his  first  volume  of  poems  to  the  press. 
They  were  admired  by  his  friends  and  much  praised  by 
the  English  Reviews ;  but  they  did  not  satisfy  the  ma- 
tured taste  and  judgment  of  their  author.  He,  indeed, 
formed  a  correct  estimation  of  its  merits.  It  was  de- 
cidedly unworth-y  his  abilities;  and  was  not  calculated 
to  increase  the  reputation,  which  he  had,  even  in  that 
early  period  of  his  life,  acquired  for  talent  and  accom- 
plishment. With  the  exception  of  four  short  poems, 
which,  after  considerable  correction,  he  was  induced  to 
admit  among  the  number  of  his  poetical  works,  he  was 
solicitous  to  erase  every  trace  of  these  early  effusions 
from  the  public  mind.  He  bought  up  every  copy  of  the 
volume  which  he  had  an  opportunity  of  procuring ; 
and  seemed  to  consider  the  publication  of  it  as  so  dis- 
creditable a  stain  on  the  fair  and  brilliant  page  of  his 
literary  life,  that  he  is  reported  never  to  have  informed 
his  children  of  the  existence  of  this  his  first,  juvenile, 
and  renounced  production. 

In  the  same  year  with  the  appearance  of  the  above 
mentioned  work,  1761,  he  was  appointed,  by  the  king's 
patent,  professor  of  philosophy  to  the  university.  His 
department  embraced  both  moral  philosophy  and  logic, 
and  it  acquired  a  peculiar  interrst  in  the  mind  of 
Beattie,  from  its  conferring  on  him  the  task  of  deliver- 
ing the  last  course  of  instruction  which  the  pnpi's  re- 
ceived  in  the  university,  previous  to  their  rxrlinn.-ing 
the  tranquil  studies  of  their  college  for  the  active  com- 
petitions of  the  world.  This  preferment  «as  sudden 
and  unexpected;  and,  at  the  age  of  twenty  five,  he 
began  lo  deliver  to  his  pupils  a  course  of  lectures  on 
those  vast,  important,  and  comprehensive  subjects, 
which  only  the  greatest  minds  are  capable  of  entertain- 
ing in  all  their  bearings  and  relations,  and  which,  of  all 
others,  require  the  greatest  vigour,  and  animation,  and 
liveliness  of  style  to  render  them  striking  and  attrac- 
tive. It  is  evident,  however,  that  these  topics  had  long 
been  familiar  with  his  thoughts,  that  he  brought  to  the 
professor's  chair  a  rich  store  of  information,  « hich 
might  readily  be  wrought  and  moulded  to  the  required 
purpose  :  and  such  was  the  diligence  of  his  appl  ication, 
that,  iu  the  period  of  a  very  few  years,  he  not  only 


140  LIFE  OF  BEATTIK. 

completed  such  a  course  of  lectures  on  moial  pliiloso- 
phy  and  logic,  as  most  richly  answered  the  splendid 
expectations  which  his  friends  and  patrons  had  formed 
of  his  abilities  ;  but  prepared  those  invaluable  works 
by  which  the  name  of  Beattie  would  rank  among  the 
highest  class  of  prose  writ'  rs,  chough  it  had  never  been 
distinguished  on  the  list  of  poets. 

I  n  1 785  he  produced  a  poem  entitled  '  The  Judgment 
of  Paris.'  It  is  found  in  the  '  Scottish  Magazine  \'  and 
is,  perhaps,  as  well  worthy  of  revival  as  some  of  his 
minor  pieces.  His  friend  and  biographer,  Sir  William 
Forbes,  has  thought  fit  not  to  include  tS.is  effort  of  his 
muse  in  the  collection  of  his  works.  The  subsequent 
year  was  marked  by  the  publication  of  some  lines  '  On 
the  Proposal  for  erecting  a  Monument  to  Churchill,  in 
Westminster  Abbey.'  They  have  neither  beauty  nor 
dignity  to  recommend  them  ;  and  are  disgraced  by  an 
unredeemed  bitterness  of  feeling  and  expression,  which 
it  was  not  generous  to  exercise  against  the  dead. 
Churchill  was  a  bad  man,  and  a  dishonour  to  the 
church  of  which  he  was  a  minister.  If  virtue  had  been 
essential  to  securing  him  a  memorial  among  the  distin- 
guished characters  whose  names  live  on  the  venerable 
walls  of  Westminster,  his  advocates  would  have  found 
themselves  destitute  of  any  just  pretence  for  his  admis- 
sion ;  but  that  distinction  has  been  conferred  on  talent, 
without  any  reference  to  morals;  to  the  celebrity  of 
genius,  ano!  not  to  purity  of  life  ;  and  the  friends  of 
Churchill  might  without  presumption  have  conceived 
that  he  merited  by  the  force  and  energy  of  his  verses, 
an  honour  merely  literary,  which  had  been  conferred 
on  many  who  were  as  much  his  inferiors  in  intellectual 
power  as  they  surpassed  him  in  profaneness  and  de- 
bauchery. That  Beattie  should  have  thought  it  right 
to  resist  the  proposition,  cannot  be  considered  a  matter 
of  surprise.  It  is  well  to  render  the  highest  honours 
that  the  living  can  bestow  upon  the  dead,  as  pure  in 
their  distribution  as  they  arc  likely  to  be  eagerly  desired, 
to  circumscribe  their  application,  to  confer  them  only 
upon  those  who  have  exhibited  the  union  of  talent  and 
virtue  ;  and  thus,  as  it  were,  by  sanctifying  the  recom- 
penses of  ambition,  to  ensure  the  wise  and  salutary 
direction  of  those  endowments  of  which  the  candidates 


LIFE  OF  BEATTIE.  i4l 

for  such  distinctions  may  be  possessed.  But  there  were 
other  ways  of  uttering  his  remonstrances,  besides  the 
satirizing  the  memory  of  one  who  had  been  sufficiently 
punished  for  the  intemperance  of  his  life,  and  the  viru- 
lence of  his  writings,  in  the  poverty,  the  disease,  the 
failure  of  ability,  and  the  ignominy  that  awaited  his 
decline  of  day*  ;  and  Beattie  should  not  have  outraged 
the  gentleness  of  bis  own  character  to  libel  the  libeller ; 
and  to  imitate  one  of  the  weightiest  crimes  of  Churchill, 
under  the  pretence  of  visiting  it  with  chastisement 
•which  was  its  due.  These  lines  were  also  very  wisely 
rejected  by  Sir  William  Forbes  ;  for  why  retain  that 
which  it  is  not  creditable  to  have  written,  and  not  in- 
teresting to  read  ? 

In  1770,  the  celebrated  '  Essay  on  Truth,'  was  first 
presented  to  the  public.  It  was  written  with  a  view  to 
ascertain  the  itandard  of  truth,  and  explain  its  immu- 
tability It  was  bis  object  to  shew  that  hi*  opinions, 
however  contrary  to  the  genius  of  scepticism,  and  in- 
consistent with  the  principles  and  the  practice  of  infidel 
writers,  were  agreeable  with  the  genius  of  true  philoso- 
phy, and  the  principles  and  practice  of  those  \vho  are 
on  all  hands  acknowledged  to  have  been  most  success- 
ful in  the  pursuit  of  truth.  He  concludes  by  laying 
down  the  rules  by  which  the  fallacies  of  the  infidel 
philosophy  may  be  detected  by  every  person  of  common 
tense,  though  he  may  not  possess  that  acuteness  of  me- 
taphysical knowledge,  which  might  fit  him  for  the  re- 
futation of  such  errors.  This  essay  met  with  the  highest 
possible  success;  it  was  translated  into  several  foreign 
languages:  its  author  was  presented  with  an  honorary 
degree  of  Doctor  of  Laws  from  the  university  of  Oxford. 
He  was,  on  his  arrival  in  England,  introduced  to  the 
first  literary  society  of  the  metropolis,  and  received 
as  the  friend  of  Burke,  of  Portcus,  of  Johnson,  and  of 
all  that  renowned  fraternity  of  genius,  by  which  the 
time  was  so  pre-eminently  distinguished.  He  was  ho- 
noured by  an  interview  with  his  sovereign,  from  whom 
he  received  the  warmest  tribute  of  admiration,  and  a 
pension  of  two  hundred  a  year;  and  he  was  requested 
by  Sir  JostjUd  Reynolds  to  sit  for  his  portrait,  in  which 
that  celebrated  painter  has  mingled  the  highest  euloey 
of  his  subject  with  the  must  splendid  exhibition  of  his 


142  LIFE  OF  BEATTIE. 

skiH  as  an  artist,  and  represented  Beattie  surrounded 
by  a  group  of  allegorical  figures,  among  whom  the 
demon  of  falsehood  is  discovered  as  flying  before  the 
genius  of  truth.  Perhaps  the  strongest  argument 
that  can  be  adduced  for  allowing  the  unrestrained 
publication  of  infidel  works,  may  be  derived  from 
effects  produced  by  the  publication  of  Hume's  Essays. 
How  few  have  been  really  seduced  from  their  de- 
pendance  on  the  gospel  by  those  cold  and  elaborate 
disquisitions!  how  many  thousands  have  been  con- 
firmed in  faith  by  the  *  Evidences'  of  Paley,  and  the 
'  Essay  on  Truth'  of  Beattie,  which  would  most  pro- 
bably never  have  been  undertaken  but  for  the  publica- 
tion of  them !  Beattie  has  been  accused  of  treating 
Hume  with  too  much  asperity  in  his  writings,  and  of 
speaking  of  the  propriety  of  excluding  him  from  civil 
society.  How  far  such  an  expulsion  might  have  been 
deserved  as  an  act  of  just-ice  to  a  man,  who,  after  de- 
claring in  one.  of  his  Essays  that  the  writer  who  '  dis- 
abused mankind  of  their  reliance  on  a  future  state 
would  deserve  illof  his  country, 'composed  an  elaborate 
essay  against  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  incurred 
the  reproach  which  he  had  himself  denounced,  I  will 
not  take  upon  myself  to  decide  ;  but  to  speak  of  a  man 
thus  acting  against  his  principles,  and  condemned  by 
his  own  sentence,  without  expressing  the  deepest  in- 
dignation, argues  an  excess  of  complacency  that  must 
astonish  the  characteristic  stoicism  of  philosophy  her- 
self. If  Beattie  has  not  spoken  of  the  blasphemies  of 
Hume  with  the  gentleness  that  is  thought  decorous,  it 
is  to  be  regretted.  It  is  desirable  to  gain  so  complete 
a  mastery  over  every  natural  affection,  as  to  be  even 
able  to  discuss  the  calumnies  that  falsehood  and  male- 
volence may  raise  against  one's  parent  or  one's  God, 
without  being  conscious  of  any  warmer  feeling  than  a 
desire  of  vindicating  and  asserting  the  truth ;  but  as 
long  as  the  human  heart  is  actuated  by  the  warm  cur. 
rent  of  the  blood,  it  will  be  impossible  for  any  one  of 
an  ordinary  temperament  to  observe  so  frigid  and  uu- 
amiable  a  composure. 

The  •  Essay  on  Truth'  was  in  the  same  year  followed 
by  the  first  book  of  the  '  Minstrel.'  This  poem  first  ap- 
peared without  the  name  of  its  author  j  but  the  beau- 


LIFE  OF  BEATTTE.  143 

ties  were  immediately  and  justly  appreciated.  The 
second  part  was  not  published  till  1774.  When  Gray 
criticised  the  Minstrel,  he  objected  to  its  author,  that, 
after  many  stanzas,  the  description  went  on,  and  the 
narrative  stopped.  Beattie  very  justly  answered  to  this 
remark,  that  he  meant  the  poem  for  description,  not 
for  incident.  But  he  seems  to  have  forgotten  this 
proper  apology,  when  he  mentions,  in  one  of  his  let- 
ters, his  intention  of  producing  Edwin  in  some  subse- 
quent books,  in  the  character  of  a  warlike  bard,  inspir- 
ing his  countrymen  to  battle,  and  contributing  to  repel 
the  invaders.  This  intention,  if  he  ever  seriously  en- 
tertained it,  might  have  produced  some  new  kind  of 
poem,  but  would  have  formed  an  incongruous  counter 
pan  to  the  piece  as  it  now  stands,  which,  as  a  picture 
of  tranquil  life,  and  avehicle  of  contemplalivemoralily, 
possesses  a  charm  that  is  inconsistent  with  (he  bold 
evolutions  of  heroic  narrative.  After  having  pour- 
trayed  his  young  enthusiast  with  such  advantage  in  a 
•tate  of  visionary  quiet,  it  would  have  been  too  violent 
a  transition  to  have  begun  a  new  book,  to  surround  him 
with  dates  of  time,  and  names  of  places.  The  in- 
terest which  we  attach  to  Edwin's  character  would 
have  been  lost  in  a  more  ambitious  effort  to  make 
him  a  greater,  a  more  important,  or  a  more  locally 
defined  being.  It  is  the  solitary  growth  of  his  genius, 
and  his  isolated  and  mystic  abstraction  from  mankind, 
that  5x  our  attention  on  the  romantic  features  of  that 
genius.  The  simplicity  of  his  fate  does  not  divert  us 
from  his  mind  to  hi?  circumstances.  A  more  un- 
worldly air  is  given  to  bis  character,  that,  instead  of 
being  tacked  to  the  fate.of  kings,  he  was  one  "  who  en- 
vied not,  who  never  thought  of  kings;"  and  that,  in- 
stead of  mingling  with  the  troubles  which  deface  the 
creation,  heonly  existed  to  make  his  thoughts  the  mir- 
ror of  its  beauty  and  magnificence.  Another  English 
critic,  Dr.  Aikin,  has  blamed  Edwin's  vision  of  the 
fairies  as  too  splendid  and  artificial  for  a  simple  youth  , 
but  there  is  nothing  in  the  situation  ascribed  to  Edwin, 
as  he  lived  in  minstrel  days,  that  necessarily  excluded 
sach  materials  from  his  fancy.  Had  he  beheld  steam 
engines,  or  dock  yards,  in  his  sleep,  the  vision  might 
have  been  pronounced  to  be  too  artificial ;  but  he  might 


144  LIFE  OF  BEATTIE. 

have  heard  of  fairies,  and  their  dances,  and  even  o* 
tapers,  gold,  and  gems,  from  the  ballads  of  his  native 
country.  In  the  second  book  of  the  poem,  there  are 
some  lint;  stanzas  ;  hut  the  author  l:m  taken  Edwin 
from  the  school  of  nature,  and  placed  him  in  his  own, 
that  of  moral  philosophy,  and  hence  a  degree  of  lan- 
guor is  experienced  by  the  reader. — The  above  remarks 
on  the  most  celebrated  of  Dr.  Beattie's  works  I  have 
transcribed  from  the  seventh  volume  of  Campbell's 
British  Poets.  They  convey  the  sentiments  of  one  of 
the  best  poets  of  the  present  age,  on  one  of  the  bright- 
est ornaments  of  the  last. 

At  the  request  of  several  of  his  friends,  Dr.  beattie 
was  induced >  in  the  year  1776,  to  prepare  for  the  press 
a  new  edition  of  the  *  Essay  on  Truth,'  to  whic'h  he  . 
added  several  original  Essays.  This  work  was  splen- 
didly printed  in  quarto,  and  published  hy  subscription 
entirely  for  hisown benefit.  The  price  was  a  guinea, and 
the  list  of  subscribers,  which  amounted  to  four  hundred 
and  seventy-six,  was  enriched  with  the  titles  of  many 
persons  of  the  highest  rank  in  the  kingdom,  and  witli 
the  names  of  all  the  most  distinguished  literary  cha- 
racters of  the  time.  The  number  of  copies  subscribed 
for  amounted  to  seven  hundred  and  thirty-two.  The 
receipts  must  therefore  have  been  considerable,  and  to 
Beattie  a  very  beneficial  supply,  who  was  by  no  means 
in  affluent  circumstances,  his  pension  being  only  two 
hundred  a-year,  and  his  professorship  never  being  equal 
to  that  sum. 

On  his  return  to  Scotland  it  was  proposed  that  he 
should  be  removed  to  some  situation  iii  the  University 
of  Edinburgh  ;  but  he  had  then  many  personal  ene- 
mies,— the  zealous  friends  of  Hume,  whom  he  was 
accused  of  having  too  severely  treated  in  his  writings; 
and  he  preferred  the  kindness  of  his  old  friends,  and 
the  quiet  of  Aberdeen,  to  a  more  lucrative  and  con- 
spicuous appointment  in  the  metropolitan  university. — 
In  the  same  generous  disregard  of  temporalities  he 
declined  entering  holy  orders,  and  accepting  a  living 
in  the  church  of  England,  which  had  been  offered  to 
him  through  Dr.  Porteus,  on  the  part  of  the  Bishop  ot 
Winchester.  He  thought  that  by  continuing  a  layman. 
•nd  refusing  the  emoluments  that  might  accrue  to  him 


LIFE  OF  BEATTIE.  145 

from  his  writings  in  the  cause  of  religion,  his  arguments 
would  have  a  more  powerful  influence  on  tLe  minds  of 
his  readers  ;  than  if  he  had  become  a  clergyman,  and 
ilu-.s,  as  it  were,  appeared  as  a  retained  advocate,  ra- 
ther than  the  voluntary  assert  or  of  the  truth. 

He  again  appeared  before  the  public  as  an  Author, 
in  1776,  with  a  volume  of  '  Essays,'  which  was  fo!- 
lowed  by  a  second  in  1783.  Of  these  works  Cowper 
has  delivered  an  opinion,  which,  coming  from  so  dis- 
tinguished an  author,  it  would  be  unpardonable  to 
omit : — '  fieatlie  is  the  most  agreeable  and  amiable 
writer  I  ever  met  with  ;  the  only  author  I  have  seen 
whose  critical  and  philosophical  researches  are  diver- 
sified and  embellished  by  a  poetical  imagination,  that 
makes  even  the  dryest  subject,  and  the  leanest,  a  feast 
for  the  epicure  in  books.  He  is  so  much  at  his  ease  too, 
that  his  own  character  appears  in  every  page,  and,  which 
is  very  rare,  we  see  not  only  the  writer,  but  the  man ;  and 
the  man  so  gentle,  so  well-tempered,  so  happy  in  his  re- 
ligion, and  so  humane  in  his  philosophy,  that  it  is  neces- 
sary to  love  him  if  one  has  any  sense  of  what  is  lovely.'* 

In  1786,  he  printed  his  '  Evidences  of  the  Christian 
Religion,'  and  in  1790,  and  1793,  he  completed  his 
liii'iary  course  by  the  publication  of  a  work  in  two  vo- 
I'.imes,  '  On  the  Elements  of  Moral  Science.'  These 
contain  in  a  connected  and  somewhat  enlarged  form, 
the  abstract  of  the  lectures  which  he  used  to  dictate  to 
his  scholars. 

Such  is  the  literary  history  of  this  distinguished  man. 
Successful  in  all  that  he  undertook,  and  meriting  his 
success  by  the  diligence  of  his  application,  by  the  va- 
riety of  his  knowledge,  and  by  the  virtuous  ends  to 
which  his  talents  were  applied.  From  his  earliest  boy- 
hood to  the  last  stage  of  life  he  trod  onward  in  a  path 
of  excellence,  and  of  brightening  celebrity.  His  learn- 
ing obtained  for  him  the  respect  and  admiration  of  his 
country,  and  the  invaluable  qualities  of  his  heart  and 
temper  conciliated  the  most  ardent  friendship  and 
affection  from  those  by  whom  it  is  a  distinction  to 
be  known,  and  an  honour  to  be  loved.  But  though 
••  towncd,  admired,  and  loved,  his  life  was  the  re- 
•  Hajley's  Life  of  Cowper,  vol.  lii.  p.  247. 

u 


146  LIFE  OF   BEATTIE. 

verse  of  happy.  His  sorrows,  at  the  conclusion  of 
his  existence,  were  heavily  accumulated  upon  him; 
and  they  struck  the  heart  where  it  was  most  keenly 
and  most  painfully  sensitive.  His  wife,  with  whom 
he  had  lived  long  and  happily,  became  deranged, 
and  was  obliged  to  be  removed  from  the  house  of  her 
husband.  His  eldest  son,  a  youth  of  the  highest  pro- 
mise, and  to  whom  his  father  was  attached  with  more 
than  a  father's  love,  for  he  was  joined  with  him  in  the 
professorship,  and  they  had  become  friends  and  fellow- 
students,  and  the  associates  of  each  other's  labours, 
died,  after  a  short  illness,  in  the  twenty-second  year  of 
his  age.  The  unhappy  Beattie  had  scarcely  bega;>  to 
revive  from  the  shock  of  this  severe  affliction,  when 
the  peace  of  his  home  was  again  mournfully  inter- 
rupted. His  sole  surviving  child,  at  the  age  of  eighteen, 
when  beginning  to  shew  the  indications  of  talent  and 
of  virtue,  not  inferior  to  those  which  had  so  tenderly 
endeared  his  elder  brother  to  the  affection  of  Jus 
father,  was  suddenly  cut  off.  This  misfortune  seems  to 
have  crushed  the  spirits,  and  for  a  time,  to  have  alie- 
nated the  mind  of  Beat-tie.  He  no  longer  mingled  in 
the  intercourse  of  society.  He  gave  up  all  his  literary 
correspondence.  He  said  that  '  he  had  done  with  this 
world,'  and  he  acted  as  if  he  felt  that  there  was  no 
longer  any  thing  on  earth  worth  living  for  to  him  :  ail 
the  links  which  bound  him  to  the  enjoyments  or  the 
business  of  this  world  were  snapt,  never  again  to  be 
united.  He  performed  mechanically  the  duties  of  his 
professorship ;  but  he  intermitted  all  the  studies  in 
which  he  had  previously  occupied  himself.  Some- 
times, indeed,  he  appeared  to  struggle  for  fortitude  •, 
and  strove  to  console  the  agony  of  his  afflictions  by 
the  recollection  of  the  severer  fate  from  which  his 
children  had  been  delivered.  As  he  thought  on  the 
hereditary  disease  by  which  their  mother  was  afflicted, 
he  would  endeavour  to  tranquillize  his  mind  by  re- 
fleeting  on  the  grievous  intellectual  malady  from  which 
death  had  saved  them  ;  and  exclaim  *  How  could  I  have 
borne  to  see  those  elegant  minds  mangled  with  madness.' 
Beattie  was  struck  with  palsy  in  1799,  and  after  re- 
peated attacks  of  the  same  disease,  died  in  1803. 


POEMS 


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THE  MINSTREL: 

OB, 

THE   PROGRESS   OF  GENIUS. 


PREFACE. 

THE  design  was  to  trace  the  progress  of  a  poetical  ge- 
nius, born  in  a  rude  age,  from  the  first  dnwning  of 
fancy  and  reason,  till  that  period  at  which  he  may  be 
supposed  capable  of  appearing  in  the  world  as  a  .Min- 
strel, that  is,  as  an  itinerant  poet  and  musician  ; — a 
character  which,  according  to  the  notions  of  our  fore* 
fathers,  was  not  only  respectable,  but  sacred. 

I  have  endeavoured  to  imitate  Spenser  in  the  mea- 
sure of  his  verse,  and  in  the  harmony,  simplicity,  and 
variety  of  his  composition.  Antique  expressions  I  have 
avoided  ;  admitting,  however,  some  old  words,  where 
they  seemed  to  suit  the  subject:  but  I  hope  none  wiil 
be  found  that  are  now  obsolete,  or  jn  any  degree  not 
intelligible  to  a  reader  of  English  poetry. 

To  those  who  may  be  disposed  to  ask  what  could  in- 
duce me  to  write  in  so  difficult  a  measure,  I  can  only 
answer,  that  it  pleases  my  ear,  and  seems, from  its  g»- 
thic  structure  and  original,  to  bear  some  relation  to  the 
subject  and  spirit  of  the  poem.  It  admits  boih  simpli- 
city  and  magnificence  of  sound  and  of  language,  be- 
yond any  other  stanza  that  I  am  acquainted  with.  It 
allows  the  sententiousness  of  the  couplet,  as  well  as  the 
more  complex  modulation  of  blank  verse.  What  some 
critics  have  remarked,  of  its  uniformity  growing  at  last 
tiresome  to  the  ear,  will  be  found  to  hold  true  only 
when  the  poetry  is  faulty  in  other  respects. 


148 
THE  MINSTREL. 


AH  !  who  can  tell  how  hard  it  is  to  climb 

The  steep  where  Fame's  proud  temple  shines  afar  j 

Ah  !  who  can  tell  how  many  a  soul  sublime 

Has  felt  the  influence  of  malignant  star, 

And  waged  with  Fortune  an  eternal  war; 

Check'd  by  the  scoff  of  Pride,  by  Envy's  frown, 

And  Poverty's  unconquerable  bar, 

In  life's  low  vale  remote  has  pin'd  alone, 

Then  dropt  into  the  grave,  unpitied  and  unknown  i 

And  yet  the  languor  of  inglorious  days 

Not  equally  oppressive  is  to  all : 

Him,  who  ne'er  list  en 'd  to  the  voice  of  praise, 

The  silence  of  neglect  can  ne'er  appal. 

There  are,  who,  deaf  to  mad  Ambition's  call, 

Would  shrink  to  hear  th' obstreperous  trump  of  Fame  ; 

Supremely  blest,  if  to  their  portion  fall 

Health,  competence,  and  peace.    Nor  higher  aim 

Had  he,  whose  simple  tale  these  artless  lines  prorluim. 

Ti  e  rolls  of  Fame  I  will  not  now  explore ; 
Nor  need  1  here  describe,  in  learned  lay, 
How  forth  the  Minstrel  fared  in  days  of  yore, 
Right  glad  of  heart,  though  homely  in  array  ; 
His  waving  locks  and  beard  all  hoary  gray: 
While  from  his  bending  shoulder,  decent  hung 
His  harp,  the  sole  companion  of  his  way, 
Which  to  the  whistling  wind  responsive  rung: 
And  ever  as  he  went  some  merry  lay  he  sung. 

Fret  not  thyself,  thou  glittering  child  of  pride, 
That  a  poor  villager  inspires  my  strain; 
With  thee  let  Pageantry  and  Power  abide  ; 
The  g*>ntle  Muses  haunt  the  sylvan  reign  j 


BOOK  I.  149 

Where  through  wild  groves  at  eve  the  lonely  swain 

Enraptur'd  roams,  to  gaze  on  Nature  charms. 

They  hate  the  sensual,  and  scorn  the  vain, 

The  parasite  their  influence  never  warms, 

Nor  him  whose  sordid  soul  the  love  of  gold  alarms. 

Though  richest  hues  the  peacock's  plumes  adorn, 

Yet  horror  screams  from  his  discordant  throat. 

Rise,  sons  of  harmony,  and  hail  the  morn, 

While  warbling  larks  on  russet  pinions  float: 

Or  seek  at  noon  the  woodland  scene  remote, 

Where  the  gray  linnets  carol  from  the  hill. 

O  let  them  ne'er,  with  artificial  note, 

To  please  a  tyrant,  strain  the  little  bill,  [will. 

But  sing  what  Heaven  inspires,  and  wander  where  they 

Liberal,  not  lavish,  is  kind  Nature's  hand  ; 

Nor  was  perfection  made  for  man  below. 

Yet  all  her  schemes  with  nicest  art  are  plann'd, 

Good  counteracting  ill,  and  gladness  woe. 

With  gold  and  gems  if  Chilian  mountains  glow , 

If  bleak  and  barren  Scotia's  hills  arise  ; 

There  plague  and  poison,  hist  and  rapine  grow  ; 

Here  peaceful  are  the  vales,  and  pure  die  skies, 

And  freedom  fires  the  soul,  and  sparkles  in  the  even 

Then  grieve  not  thou,  to  whom  th'  indulgent  Muse 

Vouchsafes  a  portion  of  celestial  fire  : 

Nor  blame  the  partial  Fates,  if  they  refuse 

Th'  imperial  banquet,  and  the  rich  attire. 

Know  thine  own  worth,  and  reverence  the  lyre. 

Wilt  thou  debase  the  heart  which  God  refined  ? 

No;  lot  thy  heaven-taught  soul  to  Heaven  aspire, 

To  fancy,  freedom,  harmony,  resign'd  ; 

Ambition's  groveling  crew  for  ever  left  behind. 

Canst  thou  forego  the  pure  ethereal  soul 

In  each  line  -.ruse  so  exquisitely  keen, 

On  tiii-  dull  couch  of  Luxury  to  loll, 

Stung  with  disease,  and  stupified  with  spleen  ; 


150  THE  MINSTREL. 

Fain  to  implore  the  aid  of  Flattery's  screen, 
Even  from  thyself  thy  loathsome  heart  to  hide, 
(The  mansion  then  no  more  of  joy  serene), 
Where  fear,  distrust,  malevolence,  abide, 
And  impotent  desire,  and  disappointed  pride? 

O  how  canst  thou  renounce  the  boundless  store 

Of  charms  which  Nature  to  her  votary  yields  ? 

The  warbling  woodland,  the  resounding  shore, 

The  pomp  of  groves,  and  garniture  of  fields  j 

All  tl-at  the  genial  ray  of  morning  gilds, 

And  all  that  echoes  to  the  song  of  even, 

And  that  the  mountain's  sheltering  bosom  shields, 

And  all  the  dread  magnificence  of  Heaven, 

O  how  canst  thou  renounce,  and  hope  to  be  foigivcnf 

These  charms  shall  work  thy  soul's  eternal  health,' 

And  love,  and  gentleness,  and  joy,  impart. 

But  these  thou  must  renounce,  if  lust  of  wealth 

E'er  wins  its  way  to  thy  corrupted  heart: 

For  ah  !  it  poisons  like  a  scorpion's  dart ; 

Prompting  th'  ungenerous  wish,  the  selfish  scheme, 

The  stern  resolve  unmoved  by  pity's  smart, 

The  troublous  day,  and  long  distressful  dream. 

Return,  my  rcving  Muse,  resume  thy  purposed  theme. 

There  lived  in  Gothic  days,  as  legends  tell, 

A  shepherd-swain,  a  man  of  low  degree  ; 

Whose  sires,  perchance,  in  Fairyland  might  dwell, 

Sicilian  groves,  or  vales  of  Arcady  ; 

But  he,  I  ween,  was  of  the  north  countrie  !• 

A  nation  famed  for  song,  and  beauty's  charms; 

Zealous,  yet  modest ;  innocent,  though  free  ; 

Patient  of  toil  ;  serene  amidst  alarms  j 

Inflexible  in  faith;  invincible  in  arms. 

*  There  is  hanlly  an  ancient  ballad  or  romance,  wherein  a  mii!«M.rl 
or  a  lurper  appears,  but  he  is  characterised,  by  way  of  eiiiinen< « .  lo 
have  l>.  en  '  of  thu  nurlh  countrie.'  It  i«  probable,  that  under  thi .  i~ 
pellatlon  were  formerly  comprehended  ail  the  provinces  to  t'x  uurUi 
of  the  Trent.  See  1'trcj'.  Essay  on  the  English  Minclrvk. 


BOOK  I.  15 

Tb«  shepherd-swain  of  v/hom  I  mention  made 
On  Scotia's  mountains  fed  his  little  flock  ; 
The  sickie,  scythe,  or  plough,  he  never  sway'd ; 
An  honest  heart  was  almost  all  his  stock ; 
His  drink  the  living  water  from  the  rock; 
The  milky  dams  supplied  his  board,  and  lent 
Their  kindly  fleece  to  baffle  winter's  shock; 
And  he,  though  oft  with  dust  and  sweat  besprent. 
Did  guide  and  guard  their  wanderings,  wheresocV- 
tl»ey  went. 

From  labour  health,  from  health  contentment  spria/i 
Contentment  opes  the  source  of  every  joy. 
Hr  envied  not,  he  never  thought  of,  kings  ; 
Nor  Irom  those  appetites  sustaiu'd  annoy, 
That  chance  may  frustrate,  or  indulgence  cloy  ; 
Nor  Fate  his  calm  and  humble  hopes  beguiled; 
He  mourn 'd  no  recreant  friend,  nor  mistress  coy, 
For  on  his  vows  the  blameless  Phoebe  smiled, 
And  her  alone  he  loved,  and  loved  her  from  a  child 

No  jValousy  their  dawn  of  love  o'ercast, 

Nor  blasted  were  their  wedded  days  with  strife; 

Each  season  look'd  delightful  as  it  past, 

To  the  fond  husband,  and  the  faithful  wife. 

Beyond  the  lowly  vale  of  shepherd  life 

They  never  roam'd;  secure  beneath  the  storm 

Which  in  Ambition's  lofty  land  is  rife, 

Where  peace  and  love  are  canker'd  by  the  worm 

Of  pride,  each  bud  of  joy  industrious  to  deform. 

The  wight,  whose  tale  these  artless  lines  unfold, 

Was  all  *'•  e  offspring  of  this  humble  pair : 

His  hinn  no  oracle  or  seer  foretold  ; 

Ni>  prodigy  appcar'd  in  earth  or  air, 

N  Draught  that  might  a  strange  event  declare. 

You  guess  each  circumstance  of  Edwin's  birtli 

The  parent's  transport,  and  the  parent's  care; 


152 


THE  MINSTREL. 


The  gossip's  prayer  for  wealth,  and  wit,  and  wortk  ; 
And  one  long  summer-day  of  indolence  and  mirtk. 

And  yet  poor  Edwin  was  no  vulgar  boy, 
Deep  thought  oft  seem'd  to  fix  his  infant  eye. 
Dainties  he  heeded  not,  nor  gaude,  nor  toy, 
Save  one  short  pipe  of  rudest  ministrelsy : 
Silent  when  glad;  affectionate,  though  shy  j 
And  now  his  look  was  most  demurely  sad; 
And  now  he  laugh'd  aloud,  yet  none  knew  why. 
The  neighbours  stared  and  sigh'il,  yet  bless'd  the  lad  : 
Some  deem'd  him  wondrous  wise,  and  some  believed 
him  mad. 

But  why  should  I  his  childish  feats  display  ? 
Concourse,  and  noise,  and  toil,  he  ever  fled  ; 
Nor  cared  to  mingle  in  the  clamorous  fray 
Of  squabbling  imps  ;  but  to  the  forest  sped, 
Or  roam'd  at  large  the  lonely  mountain's  head  ; 
Or,  where  the  maze  of  some  bewilder'd  stream 
To  deep  untrodden  groves  his  footsteps  led, 
There  would  he  wander  wild,  till  Phoebus'  beam, 
Shot  from  the  western  cliff,  released  the  weary  team. 

Th'  exploit  of  strength,  dexterity,  or  speed, 

To  him  nor  vanity  nor  joy  could  bring. 

His  heart,  from  cruel  sport  estranged,  would  bleed 

To  work  the  woe  of  any  living  thing, 

By  trap  or  net,  by  arrow  or  by  sling  ; 

These  he  detested  ;  those  he  scorn'd  to  wield  : 

He  wish'd  to  be  the  guardian,  not  the  king, 

Tyrant  far  less,  or  traitor  of  the  field. 

And  sure  the  sylvan  reign  unbloody  joy  might  yield. 

Lo!  where  the  stripling,  wrapt  in  wonder,  roves 
Beneath  the  precipice  o'erhung  with  pine ; 
And  sees,  on  high,  amidst  th'  encircling  groves, 
From  cliff  to  cliff  the  foaming  torrents  shine  : 


BOOK  I.  153 

While  waters,  woods,  and  winds,  in  concert  join, 

And  Echo  swells  the  chorus  to  the  skies. 

Would  Edwin  this  majestic  scene  resign 

For  aught  tho  huntsman's  puny  craft  supplies  ? 

Ah  !  no:  he  better  knows  great  Nature's  charms  to  prise. 

And  oft  he  traced  the  uplands,  to  survey. 
When  o'er  the  sky  advanced  the  kindling  dawn, 
The  crimson  cloud,  blue  main,  and  niountain  gray, 
And  lake,  dim-gleaming  on  the  smoky  lawn  : 
Far  to  the  west  the  long  long  vale  withdrawn, 
Where  twilight  loves  to  linger  for  awhile ; 
And  now  he  faintly  kens  the  bounding  fawn, 
And  villager  abroad  at  early  toil. 
But  lo  •.  the  Sun  appears  .  and  heaven,  earth,  ocean, 
smile. 

And  oft  the  craggy  cliff  he  loved  to  climo, 

When  all  in  midst  the  world  below  was  lost. 

What  dreadful  pleasure!  there  to  stand  sublime, 

Like  shipwreck'd  mariner  on  desert  coast, 

And  view  th'  enormous  waste  of  vapour,  tost 

In  billows,  lengthening  to  th'  horizon  round. 

Now  scoop'd  in  gulfs,  with  mountains  now  emboss'd ' 

And  hear  the  voice  of  mirth  and  song  rebound, 

Flocks,  herds,  and  waterfalls,  along  the  hoar  profound 

In  truth  he  was  a  strange  and  wayward  wight, 
Fond  of  each  gentle,  and  each  dreadful  scene. 
In  darkness,  and  in  storm,  he  found  delight : 
Nor  less,  than  when  on  ocean-wave  serene 
The  southern  Sun  diffused  his  dazzling  shene.* 
Ev'n  sad  vicissitude  amused  his  soul : 
And  if  a  sigh  would  sometimes  intervene. 
And  down  his  cheek  a  tear  of  pity  roll, 
A  sigh,  a  tear,  to  sweet,  he  wish'd  not  to  control. 

•  Brighton*,  cplendonr.    The  word  b  med  by  •ome  Mi 
writere,  a.  well  »•  by  Mlltoo. 

H2 


'  O  ye  wild  groves,  O  where  is  now  your  bloom  ! 
(The  Muse  interprets  thus  his  tender  thought) 
•  Your  flowers,  your  verdure,  and  your  balmy  gloom, 
Of  late  so  grateful  in  the  hour  of  drought ! 
Why  do  the  birds,  that  soiig  and  rapture  brought 
To  all  your  bowers,  their  mansions  now  forsake  ? 
Ah  !  why  has  fickle  chance  this  ruin  wrought  ? 
For  now  the  storm  howls  mournful  thro'  the  brake, 
And  the  dead  foliage  flies  in  many  a  shapeless  flake. 

'Where  now  the  rill,  melodious,  puro,  and  cool, 
And  meads,  with  life,  and  mirth,  ami  beauty  crown'd  t 
Ah!  see,  th'  unsightly  slime,  and  sluggish  pool, 
Have  all  the  solitary  vale  embrown'd  •, 
Fled  each  fair  form,  and  mute  each  melting  sound, 
The  raven  croaks  forlorn  on  naked  spray  : 
And  hark!  the  river,  bursting  every  mound, 
Down  the  vale  thunders,  and  with  wasteful  sway 
Uproots  the  grove,  and  rolls  the  shattered  rocks  away, 

«  Yet  such  the  destiny  of  all  on  Earth  : 

So  flourishes  and  fades  majestic  Man. 

Fair  is  the  bud  his  vernal  morn  brings  forth, 

And  fostering  gales  awhile  the  nursling  fan. 

O  smile,  ye  Heavens,  ser«ne ;  ye  mildews  wan, 

Ye  blighting  whirlwinds,  spare  his  balmy  prime, 

Nor  lessen  of  his  life  the  little  span. 

Borne  on  the  swift,  though  silent,  wings  of  Time, 

Old  age  comes  on  apace  to  ravage  all  the  clime. 

'  And  be  it  so.     Let  those  deplore  their  doom 
Whose  hope  still  grovels  in  this  dark  sojourn: 
But  lofty  souls,  who  look  beyond  the  lorub, 
Can  smile  at  Fate  and  wonder  how  they  mourn. 
Shall  Spring  to  these  sad  scenes  no  more  return  ? 
Is  yonder  wave  the  Sun's  eternal  bed  ? 
Soon  shall  the  orient  with  new  lustre  burn, 


BOOK  I.  165 

And  Spring  •hall  soon  her  vital  influence  shed. 

Again  attune  the  grove,  again  adorn  the  tnead. 

'  Shall  I  be  left  forgotten  in  the  dust, 

When  Fate,  relenting,  lets  the  flower  revive? 

Shall  Nature's  voice,  to  man  alone  unjust. 

Bid  him,  though  dnom'd  to  perish,  hope  to  live? 

Is  it  for  this  fair  Virtue  oft  must  strive 

With  disappointment,  penury,  and  pain  ? 

No  :  Heaven'*  immortal  spring  shall  yet  arrive. 

And  man's  majestic  beauty  bloom  again, 

Bright  thro'  th'  eternal  year  of  Love's  triumphant 

reign.' 

This  truth  sublime  his  simple  sire  had  taught, 
lu  sooth,  'twas  almost  all  the  shepherd  knew. 
No  subtile  nor  superfluous  lore  he  sought, 
Nor  ever  wish'd  his  Edwin  to  pursue. 

•  Let  man's  own  sphere,'  said  he,  « confine  his  view  j 
Be  man's  peculiar  work  his  sole  delight.' 

And  much,  and  oft,  he  warn'd  him,  to  eschew 
Falsehood  and  guile,  and  aye  maintain  the  right, 
By  pleasure  unseduced,  unawed  by  lawless  might. 

•  And,  from  the  prayer  of  Want,  and  plaint  of  Woe, 
O  never, never  turn  away  thine  ear! 

Forlorn,  in  this  bleak  wilderness  below, 

Ah  !  what  were  man,  should  Heaven  refuse  to  hear! 

To  others  do  (the  law  is  not  severe) 

What  to  thyself  thou  wishest  to  be  done. 

Forgive  thy  foes;  and  love  thy  parents  dear. 

And  friends,  and  native  laud ;  nor  those  alone  ; 

All  human  weal  and  woe  learn  thou  to  make  thine  own.* 

See,  in  the  rear  of  the  warm  sunny  shower 
The  visionary  boy  from  shelter  fly  j 
For  now  the  storm  of  summer- rain  is  o'er, 
And  cool,  and  fresh,  and  fragrant  is  the  sky. 
.M 


156  THE  MINSTREL. 

And,  lo!  ill  the  dark  east,  expanded  high, 
The  rainbow  brightens  to  the  setting  Sun? 
Fond  fool,  that  deem'st  the  streaming  glory  nigh, 
IIow  vain  the  chase  thine  ardour  has  begun  ! 
Tis  fled  afar,  ere  half  thy  purposed  race  be  run. 

Yet  couldst  thou  learn  that  thus  it  fares  with  age, 
When  pleasure,  wealth,  or  power,  the  bosom  warm, 
This  baffled  hope  might  tame  thy  manhood's  rage, 
And  disappointment  of  her  sting  disarm. 
But  why  should  foresight  thy  fond  heart  alarm  ? 
Perish  the  lore  that  deadens  young  desire; 
Pursue,  poor  imp,  th*  imaginary  charm, 
Indulge  gay  hope,  and  fancy's  pleasing  fire  : 
Fancy  and  hope  too  soon  shall  of  themselves  expire. 

When  the  long-sounding  curfew  from  afar 
Loaded  with  loud  lament  the  lonely  gale, 
Young  Edwin,  lighted  by  the  evening  star, 
Lingering  and  listening,  wander'd  down  the  vale. 
There  would  be  dream  of  graves,  and  corses  pale  ; 
And  ghosts  that  to  the  charnel -dungeon  throng, 
And  drag  a  length  of  clanking  chain,  and  wail, 
Till  silenced  by  the  owl's  terrific  song, 
Or  blast  that  shrieks  by  fits  the  shuddering  aisles  along. 

Or,  when  the  setting  Moon,  in  crimson  dyed, 

Hung  o'er  the  dark  and  melancholy  deep, 

To  haunted  stream,  remote  from  man,  he  hied. 

Where  fays  of  yore  their  revels  wont  to  keep  ; 

And  there  let  Fancy  rove  at  large,  till  sleep 

A  vision  brought  to  his  entranced  sight. 

And  first,  a  wildly  murmuring  wind  'gan  creep 

Shrill  to  his  ringing  ear;  then  tapers  bright, 

With  instantaneous  gleam,  illumed  the  vault  of  night. 

Anon  in  view  a  portal's  blazoix'd  arch 
Arose ;  the  trumpet  bids  the  valves  unfold  ; 


fy        ji  - 
. 
-TWf^ 


BOOK  I.  (iti 

And  forth  an  host  of  little  warriors  march, 

Grasping  the  diamond  lance,  and  targe  of  gold. 

Their  look  was  gentle,  their  demeanor  bold, 

And  green  their  helms,  and  green  their  silk  attire  ; 

And  here  and  there,  right  venerably  old. 

The  long-rob'd  minstrels  wake  the  warbling  wire, 

And  some  with  mellow  breath  the  martial  pipe  inspire 

With  merriment,  and  song,  and  timbrels  clear, 

A  troop  of  dames  from  myrtle  bowers  advance ; 

The  little  warriors  doff  the  targe  and  spear. 

And  loud  enlivening  strains  provoke  the  dance. 

They  meet,  they  dart  away,  they  wheel  askance  : 

To  right  to  left  they  thrid  the  flying  maze  ; 

Now  bound  aloft  with  vigorous  spring,  then  glance 

Rapid  along  :  with  many-colonr'd  rays 

Of  tapers,  gems,  and  gold,  the  echoing  forests  blace. 

The  dream  is  fled.     Proud  harbinger  of  day. 
Who  scared 's  t  the  vision  with  thy  clarion  shrill. 
Fell  chanticleer!  who  oft  hath  reft  away 
My  fancied  good,  and  brought  substantial  ill! 
O  to  thy  cursed  scream,  discordant  still, 
Let  harmony  aye  shut  her  gentle  ear  : 
Thy  boastful  mirth  let  jealous  rivals  spill, 
Insult  thy  crest,  and  glossy  pinions  tear, 
And  ever  in  thy  dreams  the  ruthless  fox  appear. 

Forbear,  my  Muse.    Let  Love  attune  thy  line. 
Revoke  the  spell.    Thine  Edwin  frets  not  SOL. 
For  how  should  he  at  wicked  chance  repine, 
Who  feels  from  every  change  amusement  flow 
Ev'n  now  his  eyes  with  smiles  of  rapture  glow, 
As  on  he  wanders  through  the  scenes  of  mom. 
Where  the  fresh  flowers  in  living  lustre  blow, 
Where  thousand  pearls  the  dewy  lawns  adorn — 
And  thousand  notes  of  joy  in  every  breeze  are  borne. 


158  THE  MINSTREL. 

But  who  the  melodies  of  morn  can  tellt 

The  wild  brook  babbling  down  the  mountain  side} 

The  lowing  herd ;  the  sheepfold's  simple  bell  j 

The  pipe  of  early  shepherd  dim  descried ; 

In  the  lone  valley ;  echoing  far  and  wide 

The  clamorous  horn  along  the  cliffs  above  ; 

The  hollow  murmur  of  the  ocean  tide ; 

The  hum  of  bees,  the  linnet's  lay  of  love, 

And  the  full  choir  that  wakes  the  universal  grove. 

The  cottage-curs  at  early  pilgrim  bark  ; 
Crown'd  with  her  pail  the  tripping  milkmaid  sings; 
The  whistling  ploughman  stalks  afield  ;  and,  hark  ! 
Down  the  rough  slope  the  ponderous  waggon  rings  j 
Through  rustling  com  the  hare  astonish'd  springs  ; 
Slow  tolls  the  village-clock  the  drowsy  hour ; 
The  partridge  bursts  away  on  whirring  wings; 
Deep  mourns  the  turtle  in  sequester'd  bower, 
And  shrill  lark  carols  clear  from  her  aerial  tour. 

O  Nature,  how  in  every  charm  supreme  ! 

Whose  votaries  feast  on  raptures  ever  new! 

O  for  the  voice  and  fire  of  seraphim, 

To  sing  thy  glories  with  devotion  due ! 

Blest  be  the  day  I  'scaped  the  wrangling  crew, 

From  Pyrrho's  maze,  and  Epicurus'  sty  ; 

And  he-Id  high  converse  with  the  godlike  few. 

Who  to  th'  enraptured  heart,  and  ear,  and  eye, 

Teach  beauty,  virtue,  truth,  and  love,  and  melody. 

Hence  !  ye,  who  snare  and  stupify  the  mind, 
Sophists,  of  beauty,  virtue,  joy,  the  bane! 
Greedy  and  fell,  though  impotent  and  blind, 
Who  spread  your  filthy  nets  in  Truth's  fair  fane, 
And  ever  ply  your  venom'd  fangs  amain. 
Hence  to  dark  Error's  den,  whose  rankling  slime 
First  gave  youform !  Hcrce !  lest  the  Muse  should  deign 


HOOK  i.  159 

Though  loth  on  theme  so  mean  to  waste  a  rhyme), 
With  vengeance  to  pursue  your  sacrilegious  crime. 

Bat  hail,  ye  mighty  masters  of  the  lay, 

Nature's  true  §oni,  the  friends  of  man  and  truth! 

Whose  songs  sublimely  sweet,  serenely  gay, 

Amused  my  childhood,  and  inform'd  my  youth. 

O  let  your  spirit  still  my  bosom  soothe. 

Inspire  my  dreams,  and'  my  wild  wanderings  guide  : 

Your  voice  each  rugged  path  of  life  can  smooth, 

For  well  I  know,  wherever  ye  reside 

There  harmony,  and  peace,  and  innocence  Abide. 

Ah  me !  neglected  on  the  lonesome  plain, 

As  yet  poor  Edwin  never  knew  your  lore, 

Save  when  against  the  winter's  drenching  rain. 

And  driving  snow,  the  cottage  shut  the  door. 

Then,  as  instructed  by  tradition  hoar, 

Her  legend  when  the  beldame  'gan  impart, 

Or  chant  the  old  heroic  ditty  o'er, 

Wonder  and  joy  ran  thrilling  to  his  heart ; 

Much  he  the  tale  admired,  but  more  the  tuneful  art 

Various  and  strange  was  the  long-winded  tale  ; 

And  halls,  and  knights,  and  feats  of  arms  display M; 

Or  merry  swains,  who  quaff  the  nut-brown  ale, 

And  sing  enamourM  of  the  nut-brown  maid  ; 

The  moonlight  revel  of  the  fairy  glad.i ; 

Or  hags,  that  suckle  an  infernal  brood, 

And  ply  in  caves  th'  unutterable  trade,* 

'Midst  fiends  and  spectres,  quench  the  Moon  in  blood, 

Yell  in  the  midnight  storm,  or  ride  th'  infuriate  flood. 

But  when  to  horror  his  amazement  rose, 

A  gentler  strain  the  beldame  would  rehearse, 

A  tale  of  rural  life,  a  tale  of  woes, 

•  Allusion  10  shalupeare. 
Mi.>-l>. Hi.  How  now,  je H-crel,  black,  and  midnight  bag*. 

WUeka'.  A  deed  without  a  uaue.— MaeUth,  act  Iv.  «c.  I. 


160  THE  MINSTREL. 

The  orphan  babes,  and  guardian  uncle  fierce. 

O  cruel !  will  no  pang  of  pity  pierce 

That  heart,  by  lust  of  lucre  searM  to  stone? 

For  sure,  if  aught  of  virtue  last,  or  verse, 

To  latest  times  shall  tender  souls  bemoan 

Those  hopeless  orphan-babes  by  thy  fell  arts  undone. 

Behold,  with  berries  smear'd,  with  brambles  torn,* 
The  babes  now  famish'd  lay  them  down  to  die ; 
Amidst  the  howl  of  darksome  woods  forlorn, 
Folded  in  one  another's  arms  they  lie  ; 
Nor  friend,  nor  stranger,  hears  their  dying  cry : 
*  For  from  the  town  the  man  returns  no  more.' 
But  thou,  who  Heaven's  just  vengeance  darest  defy, 
This  deed  with  fruitless  tears  shall  soon  deplore, 
When  Death  lays  waste  thy  house,  and  flames  consume 

thy  store. 

A  stifled  smile  of  stern  vindictive  joy 
Brighten'd  one  moment  Edwin's  starting  tear, 
4  But  why  should  gold  man's  feeble  mind  decoy, 
And  innocence  thus  die  by  doom  severe?' 
O  Edwiu  !  while  thy  heart  is  yet  sincere, 
TV  assaults  of  discontent  and  doubt  repel : 
Dark  ev'n  at  noontide  is  our  mortal  sphere; 
But  let  us  hope  ;  to  doubt  is  to  rebel ; 
Let  us  exult  in  hope,  that  all  shall  yet  be  well. 

Nor  be  thy  generous  indignation  check 'd, 
Nor  che.ck'd  the  tender  tear  to  Misery  given" 
From  Guilt's  contagious  power  shall  that  protect, 
This  soften  and  refine  the  soul  for  Heaven. 
But  dreadful  is  their  doom,  whom  doubt  has  driven 
To  censure  Fate,  and  pious  Hope  forego : 
Like  yonder  blasted  boughs  by  lightning  rivnn, 
Perfection,  beauty,  life,  they  never  know, 
But  frown  on  all  that  pass,  a  monument  of  woe. 
*  See  the  floe  old  ballad  called  '  The  Children  in  the  Wood. 


BOOK  I.  161 

Shall  he,  whose  birth,  maturity,  and  age, 

Scarce  fill  the  circle  of  one  summer  day, 

Shall  the  poor  gnat,  with  discontent  and  rage 

Exclaim  that  Nature  hastens  to  decay, 

If  but  a  cloud  obstruct  the  solar  ray, 

If  but  a  momentary  shower  descend  ? 

Or  shall  frail  man  Heaven's  dread  decree  gainsay, 

Which  bade  the  series  of  events  extend  [end  ? 

Wide  through  unnumbered  worlds,  and  ages  without 

One  part,  one  little  part,  we  dimly  scan 

Through  the  dark  medium  of  life's  feverish  dream; 

Vet  dare  arraign  the  whole  stupendous  plan, 

If  but  that  little  part  incongruous  seem. 

Nor  is  that  part  perhaps  what  mortals  deem; 

Oft  from  apparent  ill  our  blessings  rise. 

O  then  renounce  that  impious  self  esteem, 

That  aims  to  trace  the  secrets  of  the  skies : 

For  thou  art  but  of  dust;  be  humble,  and  be  wise. 

Thus  Heaven  enlarged  his  soul  in  riper  years, 

For  Nature  gave  him  strength,  and  fire,  to  soar 

Oil  Fancy's  wing  above  this  vale  of  tears  ; 

Where  dark  cold-hearted  sceptics,  creeping,  pore 

Through  microscope  of  metaphysic  lore : 

And  much  they  grope  for  Truth,  but  never  hit. 

For  why?    Their  powers,  inadequate  before, 

This  idle  art  makes  more  and  more  unfit ;  [wit. 

Yet  deem  they  darkness  light,  and  their  vain  blunders 

Nor  was  this  ancient  dame  a  foe  to  mirth. 

Her  ballad,  jest,  and  riddle's  quaint  device 

Oft  cheer'd  the  shepherds  round  their  social  hearth  ; 

Whom  levity  or  spleen  could  ne'er  entice 

To  purchase  chat,  or  laughter,  at  the  price 

Of  decency.    Nor  let  it  faith  exceed. 

That  Nature  forms  a  rustic  taste  so  nice. 


162  THE  MINSTRWf, 

Ah  !  had  they  been  of  court  or  city  lireed, 
Such  delicacy  were  right  marvellous  indeed. 

Oft  when  the  winter  storm  had  ceased  to  rave. 
He  roam'd  the  soowy  waste  at  ev'n  to  view 
The  cloud  stupendous,  from  th*  Atlantic  wave 
High-tow'ring,  sail  along  th' horizon  hlue  : 
Where,  'midst  the  changeful  scenery,  ever  iiew, 
Fancy  a  thousand  wondrous  forms  decries, 
More  wildly  great  than  ever  pencil  drew, 
Rocks,  torrents,  gulfs,  and  shapes  of  giant  size, 
And  glitt'ring  cliffs  on  cliffs,  and  fiery  ramparts  nte. 

Thence  musing  onward  to  the  sounding  shore, 
The  lone  enthusiast  oft  would  take  his  way, 
Listening,  with  pleasing  dread  to  1  he  deep  roar 
Of  the  wide-weltering  waves.    In  black  array 
When  sulphurous  clouds  roll'd  on  th' autumnal  day, 
Kv'n  then  he  hasten'd  from  the  haunt  of  mail, 
Along  the  trembling  wilderness  to  stray, 
What  tim«  the  lightning's  fierce  career  began,       [  ran. 
And  o'er  Heaven's  rending  arch  the  rattling  thunder 

Responsive  to  the  sprightly  pipe,  when  all 

In  sprightly  dance  the  village  youth  were  joiuM, 

Edwin,  of  melody  aye  held  in  thrall, 

From  the  rude  gambol  far  remote  reclined, 

Soothed  with  the  soft  notes  warbling  in  the  wind. 

Ah  then,  all  jollity  seem'd  noise  and  folly. 

To  the  pure  soul  by  Fancy's  fire  refin'd, 

Ah,  what  is  mirth  but  turbulence  unholy,  [rlioly  '. 

When  with  the  charm  compared  of  heavenly  mciaa- 

Is  there  a  heart  that  music  cannot  melt  ? 

Alas !  how  is  that  rugged  heart  forlorn  ; 

Is  th^re,  who  ne'er  those  mystic  transports  feit 

Of  solitude  and  melancholy  born? 

He  needs  not  woo  the  Muse j  he  is  her  scorn 


BOOK  I.  163 

The  sophist's  rope  of  cobweb  he  shall  twine ; 

Mope  o'er  the  schoolman's  peevish  page  ;  or  mourn, 

And  delve  for  life  in  Mammon's  dirty  mine  ; 

Sneak  with  the  scoundrel  fox,  or  grunt  with  glutton 

swine. 

For  Edwin,  Fate  a  nobler  doom  had  plann'd  ; 
Song  was  his  favourite  and  first  pursuit. 
The  wila  harp  rang  to  his  advent'rous  hand, 
And  languish'd  to  his  breath  the  plaintive  flute. 
His  infant  muse,  though  artless,  was  not  mute  • 
Of  elegance  as  yet  he  took  no  care  ; 
For  this  of  time  and  culture  is  the  fruit ; 
And  Edwin  gain'd  at  last  this  fruit  so  rare: 
As  in  some  future  verse  I  purpose  to  declare. 
Meanwhile,  whatc'er  of  beautiful,  or  new. 
Sublime,  or  dreadful,  in  earth,  sea,  or  sky. 
By  chance,  or  search,  was  offer'd  to  his  view. 
He  scann'd  with  curious  and  romantic  eye. 
Whate'er  of  lore  tradition  could  supply 
From  gothic  tale,  or  song,  or  fable  old, 
Roused  him,  still  keeu  to  listen  and  to  pry. 
At  last,  though  long  by  penury  controll'd, 
And  solitude,  his  soul  her  graces  'gan  unfold. 
Thus  on  the  chill  Lapponian's  dreary  land, 
For  many  a  long  month  lost  in  snow  profound, 
Whon  Sol  from  Cancer  sends  the  season  bland, 
*  And  in  their  northern  cave  the  storms  are  bound ; 
From  silent  mountains,  straight,  with  startling  sound, 
Torrents  arc  hurl'd  :  green  hills  emerge  ;  and  lo, 
The  trees  with  foliage,  cliffs  with  flowers  are  crown *d  ; 
Pure  rills  through  vales  of  verdure  warbling  go; 
And  wonder,  love,  and  joy,  the  peasant's  heart  o'erflow.* 

*  SITIIIB  and  autumn  are  hardly  known  to  the  Laplander!.  About 
the  time  ihe  MII>  enters  Cancer,  IhHr  fleMn.  whi.-li  a  week  before  were 
coTereu  with  -now,  appear  on  a  iu<lden  full  of  grilf.  and  Cowen.- 
Sfkefftr'i  H,*iu,y  of  La^Und,  p.  16. 


164  THE  MINSTREL. 

Here  pause,  my  gothic  lyre,  a  little  while  ; 
The  leisure  hour  is  all  that  thou  canst  claim : 
But  on  this  verse  if  Montague  should  smile, 
New  strains  ere  long  shall  animate  thy  frame. 
And  her  applause  to  me  is  more  than  fame  ; 
For  still  with  truth  accords  her  taste  refined. 
At  lucre  or  renown  let  others  aim, 
I  only  wish  to  please  the  gentle  mind, 
Whom  Nature's  charms  inspire,  and  iove  of  hum-in- 
kind 


BOOK  II. 

OP  chance  or  change  O  let  not  man  complain, 
Else  shall  he  never  never  cease  to  wail ; 
For,  from  the  imperial  dome,  to  where  the  swain 
Rears  the  lone  cottage  in  the  silent  dale, 
All  feel  th'  assault  of  Fortune's  fickle  gale  ; 
Art,  empire,  Earth  itself,  to  change  are  doom'd ; 
Earthquakes  have  raised  to  Heaven  the  humble  vale, 
And  gulfs  the  mountain's  mighty  mass  entomb'd  ; 
And   where  th'  Atlantic  rolls  wide  continents  have 
bloom'd.* 

But  sure  to  foreign  climes  we  need  not  range. 
Nor  search  the  ancient  records  of  our  race, 
To  learn  the  dire  effects  of  time  and  change, 
Which  in  ourselves,  alas !  we  daily  trace. 
Yet  at  the  darken'd  eye,  the  wither'd  face, 
Or  hoary  hair,  I  never  will  repine  : 
But  spare,  O  Time,  whate'er  of  mental  grace, 
Of  candour,  love,  or  sympathy  divine, 
Wb»te'er  of  fancy's  ray  or  friendship's  flame  is  mine. 
•  Plato's  nmeu*. 


BOOK  II.  166 

&4  I  obsequious  to  Truth's  dread  command. 
Shall  here  without  reluctance  change  my  lay. 
And  smite  the  gothic  lyre  with  harsher  hand ; 
Now  when  I  leave  that  flowery  path  for  aye, 
Of  childhood,  where  I  sported  many  a  day, 
Warbling  and  sauntering  carelessly  along  j 
Where  every  face  was  innocent  and  gay, 
Each  vale  romantic,  tuneful  every  tongue, 
Sweet,  wild,  and  artless  all,  as  Edwin's  infant  song. 

'  Perish  the  lore  that  deadens  young  desire,' 

Is  the  soft  tenor  of  my  song,  no  more. 

Edwin,  though  lov'd  of  Heaven,  must  not  aspire 

To  bliss  which  mortals  never  knew  before. 

On  trembling  wings  let  youthful  fancy  soar, 

Nor  always  haunt  the  sunny  realms  of  joy : 

But  now  and  then  the  shades  of  life  explore; 

Though  many  a  sound  and  sight  of  woe  annoy, 

And  many  a  qualm  of  care  his  rising  hopes  destroy. 

Vigour  from  toil,  from  trouble  patience  grows. 

The  weakly  blossom,  warm  in  summer  bower, 

Some  tints  of  transient  beauty  may  disclose  : 

But  soon  it  withers  in  the  chilling  hour. 

Mark  yonder  oaks !  Superior  to  the  power 

Of  all  the  warring  winds  of  Heaven  they  rise. 

And  from  the  stormy  promontory  tower, 

And  toss  their  giant  arms  amid  the  skies, 

While  each  assailing  blast  increase  of  strength  supplies. 

And  now  the  downy  cheek  and  deepeu'd  voice 

Gave  dignity  to  Edwin's  blooming  prime  ; 

And  walks  of  wider  ciiciiit  were  his  choice. 

And  vales  more  mild,  and  mountains  more  sublime. 

One  evening,  as  he  framed  the  careless  rhyme, 

It  was  his  chance  to  wander  far  abroad, 

And  o'er  a  lonely  eminence  to  climb. 


1#5  THE  MINSTREL. 

Which  heretofore  his  foot  had  never  trode  ; 
A  vale  appear'd  below,  a  deep  retired  abode. 

Thither  he  hied,  enamour'd  of  the  scene. 
For  rocks  on  rocks  piled,  as  by  magic  spell, 
Here  scorch'd  with  lightning,  there  with  ivy  green, 
Fenced  from  the  north  and  east  this  savage  dell. 
Southward  a  mountain  rose  with  easy  swell, 
Whose  long  long  groves  eternal  murmur  made  : 
And  toward  the  western  sun  a  streamlet  fell, 
Where,  through  the  cliffs,  the  eye,  remote,  survey'd 
Blue  hills,  and  glittering  waves,  and  skies  in  gold 
array  "d. 

Along  this  narrow  valley  you  might  see 

The  wild  deer  sporting  on  the  meadow  ground, 

Aud,  here  and  there,  a  solitary  tree, 

Or  mossy  stone,  or  rock  with  woodbine  crown'd. 

Oft  did  the  cliffs  reverberate  the  sound 

Of  parting  fragments  tumbling  from  on  high  ; 

And  from  the  summit  of  that  craggy  mound 

The  perching  eagle  oft  was  heard  to  cry, 

Or  on  resounding  wings  to  shoot  athwart  the  sky 

One  cultivated  spot  there  was,  that  spread 
Its  flowery  bosom  to  the  noonday  beam, 
Where  many  a  rose-bud  rears  its  blushing  head 
And  herbs  for  food  with  future  plenty  teem. 
Sooth 'd  by  the  lulling  sound  of  grove  and  stream, 
Romantic  visions  swarm  on  Edwin's  soul : 
He  minded  not  the  Sun's  last  trembling  gleam, 
Nor  heard  from  far  the  twilight  curfew  toll; 
When  slowly  on  his  ear  these  moving  accents  stole. 

'  Hail,  awful  scenes,  that  calm  the  troubled  breast, 
And  woo  the  weary  to  profound  repose  ! 
Can  passion's  wildest  uproar  lay  to  rest, 
And  whisper  comfort  to  the  man  of  woes? 


B.WK  If.  i<S7 

Here  Innocence  may  wander,  safe  from  foes, 
And  Coulemplatiou.  soar  on  seraph  wings. 
O  solitude  1  the  man  who  thee  foregoes, 
When  lucre  lares  him,  or  ambition  stings, 
Shall  never  know  the  source  whence  real  grandeur 
springs. 

'  Vain  man !  is  grandeur  given  to  gay  attire 

Then  let  the  butterfly  thy  pride  upbraid  : 

To  friends,  attendants,  armies,  bought  with  hire 

It  is  thy  weakness  that  requires  their  aid  : 

To  palaces,  with  gold  and  gems  inlaid  ? 

They  fear  the  thief,  and  tremble  in  the  storm  . 

To  hosts,  through  carnage  who  to  conquest  wadeT 

Behold  the  victor  vanquish'.!  by  the  worm  ! 

Behold,  what  deeds  of  woe  the  locust  can  perform! 

'True  dignity  is  his,  wnose  tranquil  mind 
Virtue  has  raised  above  the  things  below  ; 
Who,  every  hope  and  fear  to  Heaven  resign'd. 
Shrinks  not,  though  Fortune  aim  her  deadliest  blow. 
This  strain  from  'midst  the  rocks  was  heard  to  flow 
In  solemn^sounds.    Now  beam'd  the  evening  star ; 
And  from  embattled  clouds  emerging  slow 
Cynthia  came  riding  on  her  silver  car ; 
And  hoary  mountain-cliffs  shone  faintly  from  afar. 

Soon  did  the  solemn  voice  its  theme  renew 
(While  Edwin,  wrapt  in  wonder,  listening  stood): 
'  Ye  tools  and  toys  of  tyranny,  adieu, 
Scorn 'd  by  the  wise  and  hated  by  the  good  ? 
Ye  only  can  engage  the  servile  brood 
Of  Levity  and  Lust,  who  all  their  days. 
Ashamed  of  truth  and  liberty,  have  wooM 
And  hugg'd  the  chain,  that,  glittering  on  their  gaze, 
Seems  to  outshine  the  pomp  of  Heaven's  empyreal 
blase. 


'68  THE  MINSTREL. 


'  Like  tnem,  abandon'd  to  Ambition's  sway,  •»' 

I  sought  for  glory  in  the  paths  of  guile  • 

And  fawn'd  and  smiled,  to  plunder  and  betray, 

Myself  betray'd  and  plunder'd  all  the  while  ; 

So  gnaw'd  the  viper  the  corroding  file  ; 

But  now,  with  pangs  of  keen  remorse,  I  roe 

Those  years  of  trouble  and  debasement  vile. 

Yet  why  should  I  this  cruel  theme  pursue  ! 

Fiy,  fly,  detested  thoughts,  for  ever  from  my  view  ! 

'  The  gusts  of  appetite,  the  clouds  of  care, 

And  storms  of  disappointment,  all  o'erpast, 

Henceforth  no  earthly  hope  with  Heaven  shall  share 

This  heart,  where  peace  serenely  shines  at  last. 

And  if  for  me  no  treasure  be  amass'd, 

And  if  no  future  age  shall  hear  my  name, 

I  lurk  the  more  secure  from  fortune's  blast, 

And  with  more  leisure  feed  this  pious  flame, 

Whose  rapture  far  transcends  the  fairest  hopes  of  fame. 

*  The  end  and  the  reward  of  toil  is  rest, 
Be  all  my  prayer  for  virtue  and  for  peace. 

Of  wealth  and  fame,  of  pomp  and  power  possess'd, 

Who  ever  felt  his  weight  of  woe  decrease  ? 

Ah  !  «hat  avails  the  lore  of  Rome  and  Greece, 

The  lay  heaven-prompted,  and  harmonious  string, 

The  dust  of  Ophir,  or  the  Tyrian  fleece, 

All  that  art,  fortune,  enterprise,  can  bring, 

If  envy,  scorn,  remorse,  or  pride  the  bosom  wring  ! 

•  Let  Vanity  adorn  the  marble  tomb 

With  trophies,  rhymes,  and  scutcheons  of  renown, 
In  the  deep  dungeon  of  some  gothic  dome, 
Where  night  and  desolation  ever  frown. 
Mine  to  the  breezy  hill  that  skirts  the  down; 
Where  a  green  grassy  turf  is  all  I  crave, 
With  here  and  there  a  violet  bestrewn, 


BOOK  II.  169 

Put  by  a  brook,  or  fountain's  murmuring  wave  , 
And  many  an  evening  sun  shine  sweetly  on  my  grave. 

'  And  thither  let.  the  village  swain  repair; 

And,  light  of  heart,  the  village  maiden  gay, 

To  deck  with  flowers  her  half-dishevell'd  hair 

And  celebrate  the  merry  morn  of  May. 

There  let  the  shepherd's  pipe  the  live-long  day 

Fill  all  the  grove  with  love's  bewitching  woe  ; 

And  when  mild  Evening  comes  in  mantle  gray, 

Let  not  the  blooming  band  make  haste  to  go  ; 

No  ghost,  nor  spell,  my  long  and  last  abode  shall  know 

'  For  though  I  fly  to  'scape  from  Fortune's  rage, 
And  bear  the  scars  of  envy,  spite,  and  scorn, 
Yet  with  mankind  no  horrid  war  I  wage. 
Yet  with  no  impious  spleen  my  breast  is  torn : 
For  virtue  lost,  and  ruin'd  man,  I  mourn. 
O  man  !  creation's  pride,  Heaven's  darling  child. 
Whom  Nature's  best,  divinest  gifts  adorn, 
Why  from  thy  home  are  truth  and  joy  exiled, 
And  all  thy  favourite  haunts  with  blood  and  teai« 
defiled  ? 

'  Along  yon  glittering  sky  what  glory  streams! 

What  majesty  attends  Night's  lovely  queen! 

Fair  laugh  our  vallies  in  their  vernal  beams  ; 

And  mountains  rise,  and  oceans  roll  between. 

And  all  conspire  to  beautify  the  scene. 

But,  in  the  mental  world,  what  chaos  drear  ; 

What  forms  of  mournful,  loathsome,  furious  mien! 

O  when  shall  that  eternal  morn  appear, 

These  dreadful  forms  to  chase,  this  chaos  dark  to  clear! 

'  O  Thou,  at  whose  creative  smile  yon  heaven. 
In  all  the  pomp  of  beauty,  life,  and  light, 
Rose  from  th'  abyss  ;  when  dark  Confusion  driven 
Down,  down  the  bottomless  profound  of  night, 

I 


170  THE  MINSTREL. 

Fled,  where  he  ever  flif.s,  thy  piercing  sight! 

O  glance  on  these  sad  shades  one  pitying  ray, 

To  blast  the  fury  of  oppressive  might, 

Melt  the  hard  heart  to  love  and  mercy's  sway, 

And  cheer  the  wandering  soul,  and  light  him  on  tht 

way!' 

Silence  ensued  :  and  Edwin  raised  his  eyes 
In  tears,  for  grief  lay  heavy  at  his  heart. 
'  And  is  it  thus  in  courtly  life,'  he  cries, 

*  That  man  to  man  acts  a  betrayer's  part  ? 
And  dares  he  thus  the  gifts  of  Heaven  pervert, 
Each  social  instinct,  and  sublime  desire  ? 
Hail  Poverty !  if  honour,  wealth,  and  art, 

If  what  the  great  pursue,  and  learn'd  admire, 
Thus  dissipate  and  quench  the  soul's  ethereal  fir«!* 

He  s*id,  and  turn'd  away  ;  nor  did  the  sage 

O'erhear,  in  silent  orisons  employ'd. 

The  youth,  his  rising  sorrow  to  assuage, 

Home  as  he  hied,  the  evening  scene  enjoy'd. 

For  now  no  cloud  obscures  the  starry  void  ; 

The  yellow  moonlight  sleeps  on  all  the  hills  :* 

Nor  is  the  mind  with  startling  sounds  annoy'd  ; 

A  soothing  murmur  the  lone  region  fills, 

Of  groves,  and  dying  gales,  and  melancholy  rills. 

But  he  from  day  to  day  more  anxious  grew, 

The  voice  still  seem'd  to  vibrate  on  his  ear. 

Nor  durst  he  hope  the  hermit's  tale  untrue; 

For  man  he  seem'd  to  love,  and  Heaven  to  fear; 

And  none  speaks  false,  where  there  is  none  to  hear. 

•  Yet,  can  man's  gentle  heart  become  so  fell; 
No  more  in  vain  conjecture  let  me  wear 

My  hours  away,  but  seek  the  hermit's  cell; 

Tis  he  my  doubt  can  clear,  perhaps  my  care  dispel.' 

•  How  §we«t  tde  mM.nlight  »teeps  upon  thii  bank.— SktHtiftan. 


BOOK  II.  171 

At  early  dawn  the  youth  his  journey  took, 

And  many  a  mountain  pass'U  and  vailcy  wide, 

Then  reach'd  the  wild  :  where,  in  a  flowery  nook, 

And  seated  on  a  mossy  stone,  he  spied 

An  ancient  man  :  his  harp  lay  him  beside. 

A  stag  sprang  from  the  pasture  at  his  call, 

And,  kneeling,  lick'd  the  wither'd  hand  that  tied 

A  wreath  of  woodbine  round  his  antlers  tall. 

And  hung  his  lofty  neck  with  many  a  now'tri  small. 

And  now  the  hoary  sage  arose,  and  saw 

The  wanderer  approaching  :  innocence 

Smiled  on  his  glowing  cheek,  but  modest  awe 

Depress'd  his  eye,  and  fear'd  to  give  offence. 

•Who  art  thou,  courteous  stranger?  and  from  whence) 

Why  roam  thy  steps  to  this  sequester'd  dale  ?' 

'  A  shepherd-boy,'  the  youth  replied  ',  '  far  hence 

My  habitation;  hear  my  artless  tale; 

Nor  levity  nor  falsehood  shall  thine  ear  assail. 

'  Late  as  I  roam'd,  intent  on  Nature's  charms, 
I  reach'd  at  eve  this  wilderness  profound; 
And,  leaning  where  yon  oak  expands  her  arms, 
Heard  these  rude  cliffs  thine  awful  voice  rebound 
(For  in  thy  speech  I  recognize  the  sound). 
You  mourn'd  for  ruin'd  man,  and  virtue  lost, 
And  seem'd  to  feel  of  keen  remorse  the  wound, 
Pondering  on  former  days  by  guilt  engross'd, 
Or  in  the  giddy  storm  of  dissipation  toss'd. 

•  But  say,  in  courtly  life  can  craft  be  learn'd, 
Where  knowledge  opens  and  exalts  the  soul  T 
Where  Fortune  lavishes  her  gifts  ur  tarn'd 
Can  selfishness  the  liberal  heart  control? 
Is  glory  there  achieved  by  arts,  as  foul 
As  those  that  felons,  fiends,  and  furies  plan* 
Spiders  ensnare,  snakes  poison,  tigers  prowl  I 

.N 


172  THE  MINSTREL. 

Love  Is  the  godlike  attribute  of  man. 

O  teach  a  simple  youth  this  mystery  to  scaa. 

4  Or  else  the  lamentable  strain  disclaim, 
And  give  me  back  the  calm,  contented  mind ; 
Which,  late,  exulting,  view'd  in  Nature's  frame 
Goodness  untainted,  wisdom  uncon&ned, 
Grace,  grandeur,  and  utility  combined. 
Restore  those  tranquil  days,  that  saw  me  still 
Well  pleased  with  all,  but  most  with  human  kind  : 
When  Fancy  roam'd  through  Nature's  works  at  will, 
Uncbeck'd  by  cold  distrust,  and  uninform'd  of  ill.' 

'  Wouldst  thou,'  the  sage  replied,  'in  peace  return 
To  the  gay  dreams  of  fond  romantic  youth, 
Leave  me  to  hide,  in  this  remote  sojourn. 
From  every  gentle  ear  the  dreadful  truth  : 
For  if  my  desultory  strain  with  ruth 
And  indignation  make  thine  eyes  o'crflow, 
Alas !  what  comfort  could  thy  anguish  soothe, 
Shouldst  thou  th'  extent  of  human  folly  know. 
Be  ignorance  thy  choice,  where  knowledge  leads  to 
woe. 

'  But  let  untender  thoughts  afar  be  driven  j 

Nor  venture  to  arraign  the  dread  decree. 

For  know,  to  man,  as  candidate  for  heaven, 

The  voice  of  the  Eternal  said,  Be  free : 

And  this  divine  prerogative  to  thee 

Does  virtue,  happiness,  and  Heaven  convey  j 

For  virtue  is  the  child  of  liberty, 

And  happiness  of  virtue ;  nor  can  they 

Be  free  to  keep  the  path,  who  are  not  free  to  stray. 

•  Yet  leave  me  not.     I  would  allay  that  grief, 
Which  else  might  thy  young  virtue  overpower, 
And  in  thy  converse  I  shall  find  relief 
When  the  dark  shades  of  melancholy  lower  ; 


BOOK  II.  173 

For  solitude  has  many  a  dreary  hour, 
Even  when  exempt  from  grief,  remorse,  and  pain : 
Come  often,  then;  for,  haply,  in  my  bower 
Amusement,  knowledge,  wisdom  thou  may'st  gain: 
If  I  one  soul  improve,  I  have  not  lived  in  vain.' 

And  now,  at  length,  to  Edwin's  ardent  gaze 

The  Muse  of  History  unrols  her  page. 

Hut  few,  alas  !  the  scenes  her  art  displays 

To  charm  his  fancy,  or  his  heart  engage. 

Here  chiefs  their  thirst  of  power  in  blood  assuage, 

And  straight  their  flames  with  tenfold  fierceness  burn : 

Here  smiling  Virtue  prompts  the  patriot's  rage, 

But  lo,  ere  long,  is  left  alone  to  mourn, 

And  languish  in  the  dust, and  clasp  th'abandon'd  urn! 

'Ambition's  slippery  verge  shall  mortals  tread, 
Where  ruin's  gulf  unfathom'd  yawns  beneath ! 
Shall  life,  shall  liberty  be  lost,'  he  said, 
'  For  the  vain  toys  that  pomp  and  power  bequeath! 
The  car  of  victory,  the  plume,  the  wreath, 
Defend  not  from  the  bolt  of  fate  the  brave  : 
No  note  the  clarion  of  renown  can  breathe, 
T*  alarm  the  long  night  of  the  lonely  grave, 
Or  check  the  headlong  haste  of  time's  o'erwhelming 
wave. 

'  Ah,  what  avails  it  to  have  traced  the  springs. 
That  whirl  of  empire  the  stupendous  wheel! 
Ah,  what  have  I  to  do  with  conquering  kings, 
Hands  drench'd  in  blood,  and  breasts  begirt  with  steel : 
To  those,  whom  Nature  taught  to  think  and  feel, 
Heroes,  alas!  a  e  things  of  small  concern; 
Could  History  man's  secret  heart  reveal, 
And  what  imports  a  heaven-born  mind  to  learn, 
Her  transcripts  to  explore  what  besom  would  not 


174  THK  MINSTREI* 

This  praise,  0  Cheronran  sage,*  is  thine! 
(Why  should  this  praise  to  thee  alone  belong  f^ 
All  else  from  Nature's  moral  path  decline, 
Lured  by  the  toys  that  captivate  the  throng; 
To  herd  in  cabinets  and  camps,  among 
Spoil,  carnage,  and  the  cruel  pomp  of  pride  j 
Or  chant  of  heraldry  the  drowsy  soug, 
How  tyrant  blood,  o'er  many  a  region  wide, 
Roils  to  a  thousand  thrones  its  execrable  tide. 

*  O  who  of  man  the  story  will  unfold, 
Ere  victory  and  empire  wrought  annoy, 
In  that  elysian  age  (misnamed  of  gold). 
The  age  of  love,  and  innocence,  and  joy, 

When  all  were  great  and  free !  man's  sole  employ 
To  deck  the  bosom  of  his  parent  earth  ; 
Or  toward  his  bower  the  murmuring  stream  decoy; 
To  aid  the  fiow'ret's  long-expected  birth, 
And  lull  the  bed  of  peace,  and  crcwn  the  board  of 
mirth. 

'  Sweet  were  your  shades,  O  ye  primeval  groves! 

Whose  bonghs  to  man  his  food  and  shelter  lent, 

Pure  in  his  pleasures,  happy  in  his  loves, 

His  eye  still  smiling,  and  his  heart  content. 

Then,  hand  in  hand,  health,  sport,  and  labour  went, 

Nature  supplied  the  wish  she  taught  to  crave. 

None  prowl'd  for  prey,  none  watch 'd  to  circumvent. 

To  all  an  equal  lot  Heaven's  bounty  gave  : 

No  vassal  fearM  his  lord,  no  tyrant  fearM  his  slave. 

•  But  ah !  the  historic  Muse  has  never  dared 

To  pierce  those  hallow'd  bowers  :  'tis  Fancy's  beam 
PourM  on  the  vision  of  th'  enraptured  bard, 
That  paints  the  charms  of  that  delicious  them*. 


BOOK  If.  175 

Then  hail,  sweet  Fancy's  raj- !  and  hail  the  dream 
That  weans  the  weary  soul  from  guilt  and  woe ! 
Careless  what  others  of  my  choice  may  deem, 
I  long,  where  Love  and  Fancy  lead,  to  go 
And  meditate  on  Heaven,  enough  of  Earth  I  know.' 

'  I  cannot  blame  thy  choice,'  the  sage  replied, 
•  For  soft  and  smooth  are  Fancy's  flowery  ways. 
And  yet,  ev'n  there,  if  left  without  a  guide, 
The  young  adventurer  unsafely  plays. 
Eyes  dazzled  long  by  fiction's  gaudy  rays 
In  modest  truth  no  light  nor  beauty  find. 
And  who,  my  child,  would  trust  the  meteor  Maze, 
That  soon  must  fail,  and  leave  the  wanderer  blind, 
More  dark  and  helpless  far  than  if  it  ne'er  Lad 
shined  ? 

'  Fancy  enervates,  while  it  soothes,  the  heart, 
And,  while  it  dazzles,  wounds  the  mental  sight : 
To  joy  each  heightening  charm  it  can  impart, 
Hut  wraps  the  hour  of  woe  in  tenfold  night. 
And  often,  where  no  real  ills  affright, 
Its  visionary  fiends,  an  endless  train, 
Assail  with  equal  or  superior  might, 
And  through  the  throbbing  heart,  aud  dizzy  brain, 
And  shivering  nerves,  shoot  stings  of  more  than  mor- 
tal pain. 

'And  yet,  alas!  the  real  ills  of  life 

Claim  the  full  vigour  of  a  mind  prepared, 

Prepared  for  patient,  long,  laborious  strife, 

Its  guide  experience,  and  truth  its  guard. 

We  fare  on  earth  as  other  men  have  fared. 

Were  they  successful  ?    Let  us  not  despair. 

Was  disappointment  oft  their  sole  reward? 

Yet  shall  their  tale  instruct,  if  it  declare  [bear. 

How  they  have  borne  the  load  ouiselvea  are  doom'd  to 


176  THIS  MINSTREL. 

'  What  charms  th*  historic  Muse  adorn,  from  spoils, 

And  blood,  and  tyrants,  when  she  wings  her  flight, 

To  hail  the  patriot  prince,  whose  pious  toils 

Sacred  to  science,  liberty,  and  right, 

And  peace,  through  every  age  divinely  bright 

Shall  shine  the  boast  and  wonder  of  mankind! 

Sees  yonder  Sun,  from  his  meridian  height, 

A  lovelier  scene,  than  virtue  thus  enshrined 

In  power,  and  man  with  man  for  mutual  aid  combined? 

'  Hail  sacred  Polity,  by  Freedom  rear'd  ! 

Hail  sacred  Freedom,  when  by  law  restrain'd ! 

Without  you  what  were  man?     A  groveling  herd, 

In  darkness,  wretchedness,  and  want  cnchain'd. 

Sublimed  by  you,  the  Greek  and  Roman  reign'd 

In  arts  unrivall'd:  O,  to  latest  days 

In  Albion  may  your  influence  uuprofaned 

To  godlike  worth  the  generous  bosom  raise, 

And  prompt  the  sage's  lore,  and  fire  the  poet's  lays  1 

'  But  now  let  other  themes  our  care  engaga. 

For  lo,  with  modest  yet  majestic  grace, 

To  curb  Imagination's  lawless  rage, 

And  from  within  the  cherish'd  heart  to  brace 

Philosophy  appears  !     The  gioomy  race 

By  Indolence  and  moping  Fancy  bred, 

Fear,  Discontent,  Solicitude,  give  place. 

And  Hope  and  Courage  brighten  in  their  stead, 

While  on  the  kindling  soul  her  vital  beams  are  shea 

*  Then  waken  from  long  lethargy  to  life* 
The  seeds  of  happiness,  and  powers  of  thought ; 
Then  jarring  appetites  forego  thpir  strife, 
A  strife  by  ignorance  to  madness  wrought. 
Pleasure  by  cavagc  man  is  dearly  bought 

•  The  influence  of  the  philosophic  spirit  in  humanizing  the  mind, 
an.]  pn-parin;  it  for  inti  Urdu  il  exertion  and  di'licate  pleaiure  j— in 
exploring,  by  the  help  cf  geometry,  the  jyvtem  of  the  uaiitnwr ;— m 
banishing  superstition  ; — in  promoting  narration,  agriculture,  medi* 
cine,  and  moral  aim  |>olitio«l  sciwos. 


BOOK  II.  177 

With  fell  revenge,  lust  that  defies  control, 

Wnh  gluttony  :  nd  death.    The  mind  untaught 

Is  a  dark  waste,  where  fiends  and  tempests  howl : 

As  Phcebus  to  the  world,  is  science  to  the  soul. 

'  And  reason  now  through  number,  time,  and  space, 

Darts  the  keen  lustre  of  her  serious  eye, 

And  learns,  from  facts  compared,  the  laws  to  trace, 

Whose  long  progression  leads  to  Deity. 

Can  mortal  strength  presume  to  soar  so  high  ! 

Can  mortal  sight,  so  oft  bedimm'd  with  tears, 

Such  glory  bear! — for  lo,  the  shadows  fly 

From  Nature's  face ;  confusion  disappears, 

And  order  charms  the  eye,  and  harmony  the  ears  ! 

'  In  the  deep  windings  of  the  grove,  no  more 

The  hag  obscene  and  grisly  phantom  dwell ; 

Nor  in  the  fall  of  mountain-stream,  or  roar 

Of  winds,  is  heard  the  angry  spirit's  yell  ; 

No  wizard  mutters  the  tremendous  spell. 

Nor  sinks  convulsive  in  prophetic  swoon  ; 

Nor  bids  the  noise  of  drums  and  trumpets  swell, 

To  ease  of  fancied" pangs  the  labouring  Moon, 

Or  chase  the  shade  that  blots  the  blaziug  orb  of  noon. 

'  Many  a  long-lingering  year,  in  lonely  isle, 

Stunn'd  with  th'  eternal  turbulence  of  waves, 

Lo,  with  dim  eyes,  that  never  learn'd  to  smile, 

And  trembling  hands,  the  famish'd  native  craves 

Of  Heaven  his  wretched  fare ;  shivering  in  caves, 

Or  scorch'd  on  rocks,  he  pines  from  day  to  day ; 

But  science  gives  the  word  ;  and  lo,  he  braves 

The  surge  and  tempest,  lighted  by  her  ray, 

And  to  a  happier  land  wafts  merrily  away  ! 

'  And  ev'n  where  Nature  loads  the  teeming  plain 
With  the  full  pomp  of  vegetable  store, 
Her  bounty,  unimproved  is  deadly  bane  : 
Dark  woods  and  rankling  wilds,  from  shore  to  shore 
I  2 


178  THE  MINSTRKL. 

Stretch  their  enormous  glrom  ;  whicli  to  explore 
Kv'u  Fancy  trembles,  in  her  sprightliest  mood  ; 
For  there,  each  eye  ball  gleams  with  lust  of  gore, 
Nestles  each  murderous  and  each  monstrous  brood, 
Plague  lurks  in  every  shade,  and  steams  from  every 
flood. 

'  Twas  from  Philosophy  man  learn'd  to  tame 

The  soil,  by  plenty  to  intemperance  fed. 

Lo,  from  the  echoing  axe,  and  thunder  flame, 

Poison  and  plague  and  yelling  rage  are  fled! 

The  waters,  bursting  from  their  slimy  bed, 

Bring  health  and  melody  to  every  vale  : 

And,  from  the  breezy  main,  and  mountain's  head, 

Ceres  and  Flora,  to  the  sunny  dale, 

To  fan  their  glowing  charms,  invite  the  fluttering  gale. 

•  What  dire  necessities  on  every  hand 
Our  art,  our  strength,  our  fortitude  require'. 
Of  foes  intestine  what  a  numerous  band 
Against  this  little  throb  of  life  conspire! 
Yet  Science  can  elude  their  fatal  ire 
Awhile,  and  turn  aside  Death's  levcil'd  dart, 
Soothe  the  sharp  pang,  allay  the  fever's  fire, 

And  brace  the  nerves  once  more,  and  cheer  the  heart. 
And  yet  a  few  soft  nights  aud  balmy  days  impart. 

*  Nor  less  to  regulate  man's  moral  frame 
Science  exerts  her  all-composing  sway. 
Flutters  thy  breast  with  fear,  or  pants  for  fame, 
Or  pines,  to  indolence  and  spleen  a  prey, 

Or  avarice,  a  fiend  more  fierce  than  they  ? 
Flee  to  the  shade  of  Academus'  grovej 
Where  cares  molest  not,  discord  melts  away 
In  harmony,  and  the  pure  passions  prove 
How  sweet  the  words  of  Truth,  breathed  from  the  lips 
of  Love. 


NOOK  II  179 

'  What  cannot  Art  and  Industry  perform. 
When  Science  plans  the  progress*  of  their  toil; 
They  smile  at  penury,  disease,  and  storm  ; 
And  oceans  from  their  mighty  mounds  recoil. 
When  tyrants  scourge,  or  demagogues  embroil 
A  land,  or  when  the  rabble's  headlong  rage 
Order  transforms  to  anarchy  and  spoil. 
Deep-versed  in  man  the  philosophic  sage 
Prepares  with  lenient  hand  their  frenzy  to  assuage 

'  'Tis  he  alone,  whose  comprehensive  mind, 
From  situation,  temper,  soil,  and  clime 
Explored,  a  nation's  various  powers  can  bind, 
And  various  orders,  in  one  form  sublime 
Of  policy,  that  midst  the  wrecks  of  time, 
Secure  shall  lift  its  head  ou  high,  nor  fear 
Th'  assault  of  foreign  or  domestic  crime, 
While  public  faith,  and  public  love  sincere. 
And  industry  and  law  maintain  their  sway  sever*.* 

Enraptured  by  the  Permit's  strain,  the  youth 
Proceeds  the  path  of  Science  to  explore. 
And  now,  expanded  to  the  beam  of  truth, 
New  energies  and  charms  unknown  before 
His  mind  discloses :  Fancy  now  no  more 
Wantons  on  fickle  pinion  through  the  skies ; 
But,  fix'd  in  aim,  and  conscious  of  her  power. 
Aloft  from  cause  to  cause  exults  to  rise, 
Creation':)  blended  stores  arranging  as  she  flies. 

Nor  love  of  novelty  alone  inspires 
Their  laws  and  nice  dependencies  to  scan ; 
For,  mindful  of  the  aids  that  life  requires, 
And  of  the  services  man  owes  to  man, 
He  meditates  new  arts  on  Nature's  plan ; 
The  cold  desponding  breast  of  sloth  to  warm. 
The  flame  of  industry  and  genius  fan, 


1"0  THE  MINSTREL. 

And  emulation's  nol-.le  rage  alarm, 

And  the  long  hours  of  toil  and  solitude  to  charm. 

But  she,  who  set  on  lire  his  infant  heart, 

And  all  his  dreams,  and  all  his  wanderings  chared 

And  blessed,  the  Muse,  and  her  celestial  art, 

Still  claim  th*  enthusiast's  fond  and  fir=t  regard. 

From  Nature's  beauties  variously  compared 

And  variously  combined,  he  learns  to  frame 

Those  forms  of  bright  perfection,*  which  the  bard, 

While  boundless  hopes  and  boundless  views  inflame, 

Enamour'd  consecrates  to  never-dying  fame. 

Of  late,  with  cumbersome,  though  pompous  show, 

Edwin  would  oft  his  flowery  rhyme  deface, 

Through  ardour  to  adorn  ;  but  Nature  now 

To  his  experienced  eye  a  modest  gnlte 

Presents,  where  ornament  the  second  place 

Holds,  to  intrinsic  worth  and  just  design 

Subservient  still.    Simplicity  apace 

Tempers  his  rage  .  he  own*  her  charms  divine,     [line. 

And  clears  th'  ambignoiisphrase,  und  lops  the  unwieldy 

Fain  would  I  sing  (much  yet  unsung  remains) 

What  sweet  delirium  o'er  his  bosom  stole, 

When  the  great  shrpherd  of  the  Mantuan  plainst 

His  deep  majestic  melody  'gan  roll  : 

Fain  would  I  sing  what  transport  storm'd  his  soul, 

How  the  red  current  throbb'd  his  veins  along, 

When,  like  Pelides,  bold  beyond  control, 

Without  art  graceful,  without  effort  strong,  [song 

Homer  raised  high  to  Heaven  the  loud,  th'  impetuous 

And  how  his  lyre,  though  rude  her  first  essays. 
Now  skill'd  to  soothe,  to  triumph,  to  complain, 
Warbling  at  will  through  each  harmonious  maze, 
Was  taught  to  modulate  the  artful  strain, 

•  See  Aristotle'*  Poetics,  and  the  biscouraesof  Sir  Joshua  Rernoldt 
t  Virgil. 


BOOK:  ii.  181 

I  fain  would  sing  :  but  ah  !  I  strive  in  vain. 
Sighs  from  a  breaking  heart  my  voice  confound 
With  trembling  step,  to  join  yon  weeping  tram 
I  haste,  where  gleams  funereal  glare  around, 
And  mix'd  with  shrieks  of  woe,  the  knells  of  death 

resound. 

Adieu,  ye  lays,  that  Fancy's  flowers  adorn, 
The  soft  amusement  of  the  vacant  mind! 
He  sleeps  in  dust,  and  all  the  Muses  mourn, 
He,  whom  each  virtue  fired,  each  grace  refined, 
Friend,  teacher,  pattern,  darling  cf  mankind ! 
He  sleeps  in  dust.*     Ah,  how  shall  I  pursue 
My  theme  !   To  heart-consuming  grief  resign'd. 
Here  on  his  recent  grave  I  fix  my  view, 
And  pour  my  bitter  tears.     Ye  flowery  lays,  adieu  I 

Art  thou,  my  Gregory,  for  ever  fled  ! 
And  am  I  left  to  unavailing  woe ! 
When  fortune's  storms  assail  this  weary  head, 
Where  cares  long  since  have  shed  untimely  snow! 
Ah,  now  for  comfort  whither  shall  I  go! 
No  more  thy  soothing  voice  my  anguish  cheers : 
Thy  placid  eyes  with  smiles  no  longer  glow, 
My  hopes  to  cherish  and  allay  my  fears. 
'Ti»  meet  that  I  should  mourn :  flow  forth  afresh, 
my  tears. 

•  Thli  excellent  person  died  tuddenly  on  the  ICth  of  Fetruar; 
1773.    The  conclusion  of  the  poem  wai  written  a  few  dayf  after. 


POEMS. 

TO 

MRS.     MONTAGU, 

THESE 

LITTLE    POEMS. 

NOW   REVISED  AND   CORRECTED  FOB  THE  I-A8T   TIME, 

ABE, 

WITH  EVERT  SENTIMENT   OF  ESTEEM   AND 
GRATITUDE, 

MOST   RESPECTFULLY   INSCRIBED, 

BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


ADVERTISEMENT 


January,  17TT. 

HAVING  lately  seen  in  print  some  poem*  ascribed  to 
me  which  I  never  wrou ,  a-iil  some  of  my  own  inaccu- 
rately copied,  I  thought  it  would  not  be  improper  to 
publish,  in  this  little  volume,  all  the  verses  of  which  I 
am  willing  to  be  considered  as  the  author.  Many  others 
I  did  indeed  write  in  the  early  part  of  my  life;  but  they 
were  in  general  so  incorrect,  that  I  would  not  rescue 
them  from  oblivion,  even  if  a  wish  could  do  it. 

Some  of  the  few  now  offered  to  the  public  would  per- 
haps have  been  suppressed,  if  in  making  this  collection 
I  had  implicitly  followed  my  own  judgment.  But  in  so 
•mall  a  matter,  who  would  refuse  to  submit  his  opinion 
to  that  of  a  friend  ? 

It  is  of  no  consequence  to  the  reader  to  know  the 
date  of  any  of  these  little  poems.  But  some  private 
reasons  determined  the  author  to  add,  that  most  of 
them  were  written  many  years  ago,  and  that  the  greater 
part  of  the  Minstrel  which  is  bis  latest  attempt  in  this 
«my,  was  composed  in  the  year  1768. 


r 


IBS 


ODE  TO  PEACE. 

I.  1. 

PEACE,  heaven-descended  maid!  whose  powerful  voice 
From  ancient  darkness  call'd  the  morn, 
Of  jarring  elements  composed  the  noise  : 
When  Chaos,  from  his  old  dominion  torn, 
With  all  his  bellowing  throng, 
Far,  far  was  hurl'd  the  void  abyss  along; 
And  all  the  bright  angelic  choir 
To  loftiest  raptures  tuned  the  heavenly  lyre, 
Putir'd  in  loud  symphony  tli'  impetuous  strain^ 
And  every  fiery  orb  and  planet  sung, 
And  wide  through  night's  dark  desolate  domain 
Rebounding  long  and  deep  the  lays  triumphant  rung. 

I.  2. 

Oh  whither  art  thou  fled,  Saturnian  reign? 
Roll  round  again,  majestic  years ! 
To  break  fell  Tyranny's  corroding  chain, 
From  Woe's  wan  cheek  to  wipe  the  bitter  tears, 
Ye  years,  again  roll  round  ! 
Hark  from  afar  what  loud  tumultuous  sound, 
While  echoes  sweep  the  winding  vales, 
Swells  full  along  the  plains,  and  loads  the  gales' 
Murder  deep-roused,  with  the  wild  whirlwind's  haste 
And  roar  of  tempest,  from  her  cavern  springs, 
Her  tangled  serpents  girds  around  her  waist, 
Smile*  ghastly-stern,  and  shakes  her  gore-distilling 
wings. 

I.  3. 

Fierce  up  the  yielding  skies 
The  shouts  redoubling  rise : 
Earth  shudders  at  the  dreadful  sound. 
And  all  is  listening  trembling  round 


186  ODE  TO  PEACE. 

Torrents,  that  from  yun  promontory's  head 

Dash'd  furious  down  in  desperate  cascade, 

Heard  from  afar  amid  the  lonely  night 

That  oft  have  led  the  wanderer  right, 

Are  silent  at  the  noise. 

The  mighty  ocean's  more  majestic  voice 

Drown'd  in  superior  din  is  heard  no  more  ; 

The  surge  in  silence  sweeps  along  the  foamy  shore. 

II.  1. 

The  bloody  banner  streaming  iu  the  air 
Seen  on  yon  sky-mix'd  mountain's  brow, 
The  mingling  multitudes,  the  madding  car 
Pouring  impetuous  on  the  plain  below, 
War's  dreadful  lord  proclaim. 
Bursts  out  by  frequent  fits  th'  expansive  flame. 
Whirl'd  in  tempestuous  eddies  flies 
The  surging  smoke  o'er  all  the  darken'd  skies. 
The  cheerful  face  of  heaven  no  more  is  seen. 
Fades  the  morn's  vivid  blush  to  deadly  pale, 
The  bat  flits  transient  o'er  the  dusky  green 
Night's  shrieking  birds  along  the  sullen  twilight  saiL 

II.  2. 

Involv'd  in  fire-streak'd  gloom  the  car  comes  on ; 
The  mangled  steeds  grim  Terror  guides. 
His  forehead  writhed  to  a  relentless  frown, 
Aloft  the  angry  power  of  battles  rides : 
Grasp'd  in  his  mighty  hand 
A  mace  tremendous  desolates  the  land  ; 
Thunders  the  turret  down  the  steep, 
The  mountain  shrinks  before  its  wasteful  sweep  ; 
Chill  horror  the  dissolving  limbs  invades; 
Smit  by  the  blasting  lightning  of  his  eyes, 
A  bloated  paleness  beauty's  bloom  o'erspreads, 
Fades  every  flowery  field,  and  every  verdure  did. 


ODE  TO  PEACE.  187 

U.S. 

How  startled  Phrenzy  stares, 
Bristling  her  ragged  hairs! 
Revenge  the  gory  fragment  gnaws; 
See,  with  her  griping  vulture-claws 
Imprinted  deep,  she  rends  the  opening  wound ! 
Hatred  her  torch  blue  streaming  tosses  round  ; 
The  shrieks  of  agony  and  clang  of  arms 
Re-echo  to  the  fierce  alarms 
Her  trump  terrific  blows. 
Disparting  from  behind,  the  clouds  disclose 
Of  kingly  gesture  a  gigantic  form, 
That  with  his  scourge  sublime  directs  the  whirling 
storm. 

III.  1. 

Ambition,  outside  fair!  within  more  foul 
Than  fellest  fiend  from  Tartarus  sprung, 
In  caverns  hatch'd,  where  the  fierce  torrents  roll 
Of  Phlcgethon,  the  burning  banks  along. 
Yon  naked  waste  survey  ; 

Where  late  was  heard  the  flute's  mellifluous  lay  ; 
Where  late  the  rosy-bosoru'd  Hours 
In  loose  array  danced  lightly  o'er  the  flowers  ; 
Where  late  the  shepherd  told  his  tender  tale  ; 
And,  waked  by  the  soft-murmuring  breeze  of  mom, 
The  voice  of  cheerful  labour  fill'd  the  dale  ; 
And  dove  eyed  Plenty  smiled,  and  wav'd  her  liberal 
horn. 

III.  2. 

Yon  ruins  sable  from  the  wasting  flame 
But  mark  the  once  resplendent  dome  ; 
The  frequent  corse  obstructs  the  sullen  stream, 
And  ghosts  glare  horrid  from  the  sylvan  g'.oom. 
How  sadly  silent  all  ! 

Save  where  out  stretch'd  beneath  yon  hanging  wall 
.O 


188  ODE  TO  PEACE. 

Pale  Famine  moans  with  feeble  breath, 
And  torture  yells,  and  grinds  her  bloody  teeth— 
Though  vain  the  Muse,  and  every  melting  lay 
To  touch  thy  heart,  unconscious  of  remorse! 
Know,  monster,  know,  thy  hour  is  on  the  way, 
I  see,  I  see  the  years  begin  their  mighty  course. 

III.  3. 

What  scenes  of  glory  rise 
Before  my  dazzled  eyes ! 
Young  Zephyrs  wave  their  wanton  wings, 
And  melody  celestial  rings  : 
Along  the  lilied  lawn  the  nymphs  advance, 
Flush'd  with  love's  bloom,  and  range  the  sprightly 

dance : 

The  gladsome  shepherds  on  the  mountain-side 
Array'd  in  all  their  rural  pride 
Exalt  the  festive  note, 
Inviting  Echo  from  her  inmost  grot — 
But  ah  !  the  landscape  glows  with  fainter  light, 
It  darkens,  swims,  and  flies  for  ever  from  my  sight. 

IV.  1. 

Illusions  vain  !  Can  sacred  Peace  reside 
Where  sordid  gold  the  breast  alarms, 
Where  cruelty  inflames  the  eye  of  Pride, 
And  Grandeur  wantons  in  soft  Pleasure*!  arms? 
Ambition!  these  are  thine  : 
These  from  the  soul  erase  the  form  divine ; 
These  quench  the  animating  fire, 
That  warms  the  bosom  with  sublime  desire. 
Thence  the  relentless-heart  forgets  to  feel, 
Hate  rides  tremendous  on  th'  o'erwhelmiug  brow. 
And  midnight  Rancour  grasps  the  cruel  steel, 
Blaze  the  funereal  Barnes,  and  sound  the  shriek* 
of  Woe. 


ODE  TO  PEACE.  189 

IV.  2. 

From  Albion  fled,  thy  once-beloved  retreat, 
What  region  brightens  in  thy  smile, 
Creative  Peace,  and  underneath  thy  feet 
Sees  sudden  flowers  adorn  the  rugged  soil  ? 
In  bleak  Siberia  blows, 

Waked  by  thy  genial  breath,  the  balmy  rose  ? 
Waved  o'er  by  thy  magic  wand 
Does  life  inform  fell  Lybia's  burning  sand  ? 
Or  does  some  isle  thy  parting  flight  detain, 
Where  roves  the  Indian  through  primeval  shades  t 
Haunts  the  pure  pleasures  of  the  woodland  reign, 
And,  led  by  reason's  ray,  the  path  of  Nature  tread*  t 

iv.  a 

On  Cuba's  utmost  steep* 
Far  leaning  o'er  the  deep 
The  goddess'  pensive  form  was  seen. 
Her  robe  of  Nature's  varied  green 
Waved  on  the  gale  :  grief  dimra'd  her  radiant  eyes, 
Her  swelling  bosom  heaved  with  boding  sighs : 
She  eyed  the  main  ;  where,  gaining  en  the  view. 
Emerging  from  th'  ethereal  blue, 
'Midst  the  dread  pomp  of  war 
Gleam'd  the  Iberian  streamer  from  atar. 
She  saw;  and  on  refulgent  pinions  borne 
Slow  wing'd  her  way  sublime,  and  mingled  with  the 
morn. 

•  Alluding  to  the  di§co»ery  of  America  by  the  Spaniard!  aider  Co- 
lumbui.  These  ra»ager»  are  >appo«ed  to  have  made  ihelr  flrti  descent 
on  the  ulaod»  in  the  g«U  of  Florida,  of  which  Cuua  u  one. 


190 


TRIUMPH  OF  MELANCHOLY. 

MEMORY,  be  still!  why  throng  upon  the  thought 
These  scenes  deep-stain'd  with  Sorrow's  sable  dyeT 
Hast  thou  in  store  no  joy-illumined  draught, 
To  cheer  bewilder'd  Fancy's  tearful  eye? 

Yes — from  afar  a  landscape  seems  to  rise, 
Deckt  gorgeous  by  the  lavish  hand  of  Spring; 
Thin  gilded  clouclslBoa*  light  along  the  skies, 
And  laughing  Loves  disport  on  flnttervQg  wing. 

How  blest  the  youth  in  yonder  valley  laid  ! 
Soft  smiles  in  every  conscious  feature  play, 
While  to  the  gale  low-murmuring  through  the  glade 
He  tempers  sweet  his  sprightly  warbling  lay. 

Hail  Innocence  !  whose  bosom  all  serene, 
Feels  not  fierce  passion's  raving  tempest  roll  ! 
Oh  ne'er  may  Care  distract  that  placid  mien'. 
Oh  ne'er  may  Doubt's  dark  shades  o'erwhelm  thy  soul 

Vain  wish  !  for  lo,  in  gay  attire  conceal'd 
Yonder  she  comes !  the  heart-inflaming  fiend  ! 
(Will  no  kind  power  the  helpless  stripling  shield?) 
Swift  to  her  destined  prey  see  Passion  bend ! 

O  smile  accurst  to  hide  the  worst  designs ! 
Now  with  blithe  eye  she  wooes  him  to  be  blest, 
While  round  her  arm  unseen  a  serpent  twines — 
And  lo,  she  hurls  it  hissing  at  his  breast ! 

And,  instant,  lo,  his  dizzy  eye  ball  swims 
Ghastly,  and,  reddening,  darts  a  threatful  glare; 
Pain  with  strong  grasp  distorts  his  writhing  1'iuibs, 
And  Fear's  cold  hand  erects  his  bristling  hair! 


TRIUMPH  OF  MELANCHOLY.          19] 

Is  this,  O  life,  is  this  thy  boasted  prime? 
And  does  thy  spring  no  happier  prospect  yield  ? 
Why  gilds  the  vernal  sun  thy  gaudy  clime, 
When  nipping  mildews  waste  the  flowery  field 

How  memory  pains !    Let  some  gay  theme  beguile 
The  musing  mind,  and  soothe  to  soft  delight. 
Ye  images  of  woe,  no  more  recoil; 
Be  life's  past  scenes  wrapt  in  oblivious  night. 

Now  when  fierce  Winter,  arm 'd  with  wasteful  power. 
Heaves  the  wild  deep  that  thunders  from  afar, 
How  sweet  to  sit  in  this  sequester'd  bower, 
Ts>  hear,  and  but  to  hear,  the  mingling  war' 

Ambition  here  displays  no  gilded  toy 
That  tempts  on  desperate  wing  the  soul  to  rise, 
Nor  Pleasure's  flower-embroider'd  paths  decoy, 
Nor  Anguish  lurks  in  Grandeur's  gay  disguise. 

Oft  has  Contentment  cheer'd  this  lone  abode 
With  the  mild  languish  of  her  smiling  eye; 
Here  Health  has  oft  in  blushing  beauty  glowM, 
While  loose-robed  Quiet  stood  enamour'd  by. 

E'en  the  storm  lulls  to  more  profound  repose  : 
The  storm  these  humble  walls  assails  in  vain; 
Screen'd  is  the  lily  when  the  whirlwind  blows, 
While  the  oak's  stately  ruin  strews  the  plain. 

Blow  on,  ye  winds !    Thine,  Winter,  be  the  skies, 
Roll  the  old  ocean,  and  the  "ales  lay  waste: 
Nature  thy  momentary  rage  defies ; 
To  her  relief  the  gentler  seasons  haste. 

Throned  in  her  emerald-car  see  Spring  appear  I 
(As  Fancy  wills  the  landscape  starts  to  view) 
Her  emerald-car  the  youthful  Zephyrs  bear. 
Fanning  her  bosom  with  their  pinions  blue. 


192  THE  TRIUMPH 

Around  the  jocund  Hours  are  fluttering  seen  ; 
And  lo,  her  rod  the  rose  lip'd  power  extends ! 
And  lo,  the  lawns  are  deckt  in  living  green, 
And  Beauty's  bright-eyed  train  from  heaven  descends! 

Haste,  happy  days,  and  make  all  nature  glad — 
But  will  all  nature  joy  at  your  return? 
Say,  can  ye  cheer  pale  Sickness'  gloomy  bed, 
Or  dry  the  tears  that  bathe  th'  untimely  urn? 

Will  ye  one  transient  ray  of  gladness  dart 
'Cross  the  dark  cell  where  hopeless  slavery  lies? 
To  ease  tired  Disappointment's  bleeding  heart, 
Will  all  your  stores  of  softening  balm  suffice? 

When  fell  Oppression  in  his  harpy-fangs 
From  Want's  weak  grasp  the  last  sad  morsel  bears, 
Can  ye  allay  the  heart-wrung  parent's  pangs, 
Whose  faniish'd  child  craves  help  with  fruitless  tears ! 

For  ah '.  thy  reign,  Oppression,  is  not  past. 
Who  from  the  shivering  limbs  the  vestment  rend* 
Who  lays  the  once-rejoicing  village  waste, 
Bursting  the  ties  of  lovers  and  of  friends? 

O  ye,  to  Pleasure  who  resign  the  day, 
As  loose  in  Luxury's  clasping  arms  you  lie, 
O  yet  let  pity  in  your  breast  bear  sway, 
And  learn  to  melt  at  Misery's  moving  cry. 

But  hop'st  thou,  Muse,  vain  glorious  as  thou  art, 
With  the  weak  impulse  of  thy  humble  strain, 
Hop'st  thou  to  soften  Pride's  obdurate  heart, 
When  Errol's  bright  example  shines  in  vain? 

Then  cease  the  theme.  Turn,  Fancy,  turn  thine  ey«, 
Thy  weeping  eye,  nor  farther  urge  thy  flight; 
Thy  haunts,  alas!  no  gleams  of  joy  supply, 
Or  transient  gleams,  that  flash,  aud  sink  in  night. 


OF  MELANCHOLY.  108 

Yet  fain  the  mind  its  anguish  would  forego—- 
Spread theu,  historic  Muse,  thy  pictured  scroll; 
Bid  thy  great  scenes  in  all  their  splendour  glow, 
And  swell  to  thought  sublime  th'  exalted  soul. 

What  mingling  pomps  rush  boundless  on  the  gaze! 
What  gallant  navies  ride  the  heaving  deep1 
What  glittering  towns  their  cloud-wrapt  turrets  raise' 
What  bulwarks  frown  horrific  o'er  the  steep! 

Bristling  with  spears,  and  bright  with  burnish'd 

shields, 

Th'  embattled  legions  stretch  their  long  array  ; 
Discord's  red  torch,  as  fierce  she  scours  the  field*, 
With  bloody  tincture  stains  the  face  of  day. 

And  now  the  hosts  in  silence  wait  the  sign. 
How  keen  their  looks  whom  Liberty  inspires! 
Quick  as  the  goddess  darts  along  the  line, 
Each  breast  impatient  burns  with  noble  fires. 

Her  form  how  graceful !    In  her  lofty  mien 
The  smiles  of  Love  stern  Wisdom's  frown  control  ; 
Her  fearless  eye,  determined  though  serene. 
Speaks  the  great  purpose,  and  th'  unconquered  soul. 

Mark,  where  Ambition  leads  the  adverse  band, 
Each  feature  fierce  and  haggard,  as  with  pain! 
With  menace  loud  he  cries,  while  from  his  hand 
He  vainly  strives  to  wipe  the  crimson  stain. 

Lo,  at  his  call,  impetuous  as  the  storms, 
Headlong  to  deeds  of  death  the  hosts  are  driven; 
Hatred  to  madness  wrought  each  face  deforms, 
Mounts  the  black  whirlwind,  and  involves  the  Leaven 

Now,  Virtue,  now  thy  powerful  succour  lend, 
Shield  them  for  Liberty  who  dare  to  die — 
Ah  Liberty !  will  none  thy  cause  befriend  ? 
Are  these  thy  cons,  thy  generous  sens,  that  £>  ? 

K 


194  THE  TRIUMPH 

Not  Virtue's  self,  when  Heaven  its  aid  denies, 
Can  brace  the  loosen'd  nerves,  or  warm  the  heart; 
Not  Virtue's  self  can  still  the  burst  of  sighs, 
When  festers  in  the  soul  Misfortune's  dart. 

See,  where  by  heaven-bred  terror  all  dismay'd 
The  scattering  legions  pour  along  the  plain. 
Ambition's  car  with  bloody  spoils  array'd 
Hews  its  broad  way,  as  Vengeance  guides  the  rein. 

But  who  is  he,  that  by  yon  lonely  brook 
With  woods  o'erhung  and  precipices  rude,* 
Abandon'd  lies,  and  with  undaunted  look 
Sees  streaming  from  his  breast  the  purple  flood  ? 

Ah,  Brutus  !  ever  thine  be  Virtue's  tear ! 
Lo,  his  dim  eyes  to  Liberty  he  turns, 
As  scarce  supported  on  her  broken  spear 
O'er  her  expiring  son  the  goddess  mourns. 

Loose  to  the  wind  her  azure  mantle  flies, 
From  her  dishevell'd  locks  she  rends  the  plume; 
No  lustre  lightens  in  her  weeping  eyes, 
And  on  her  tear-stain'd  cheek  no  roses  bloom. 

Meanwhile  the  world,  Ambition,  owns  thy  sway, 
Fame's  loudest  trumpet  labours  in  thy  praise  ; 
For  thee  the  Muse  awakes  her  sweetest  lay, 
And  flattery  bids  for  thee  her  altars  blaze. 

Nor  in  life's  lofty  bustling  sphere  alone, 
The  sphere  where  monarchs  and  where  heroes  toil, 
Sink  Virtue's  sons  beneath  Misfortune's  frown, 
While  Guilt's  thrill'd  bosom  leaps  at  Pleasure's  smile  ; 

Full  oft,  where  Solitude  and  Silence  dwell 
Far,  far  remote  amid  the  lowly  pHin, 
Resounds  the  voice  of  Woe  from  Virtue's  cell. 
Such  is  man's  doom,  and  Pity  weeps  in  vain. 

•  Such,  according  tw  Plutarch,  was  the  tceue  of  Brutus'*  difth. 


OF  MELANCHOLY.  195 

Still  grief  recoils — How  vainly  have  I  strove 
Thy  power,  O  Melancholy,  to  withstand  ! 
Tired  I  submit ;  but  yet,  O  yet  remove, 
Or  ease  the  pressure  of  thy  heavy  hand. 

Yet  for  awhile  let  the  bewilder'd  soul 
Find  Ln -society  relief  from  woe; 
O  yield  awhile  to  Friendship's  soft  control  ; 
Some  respite,  Friendship,  wilt  thou  not  bestow  t 

Com  e,  then,  Philander  !  for  thy  lofty  mind 
Looks  down  from  far  on  all  that  charms  the  great : 
For  thou  canst  bear,  unshaken  and  resign'd, 
The  brightest  smiles,  the  blackest  frowns  of  Fate  : 

Come  thou,  whose  love  unlimited,  sincere, 
Nor  faction  cools,  nor  injury  destroys; 
Who  lend'st  to  Misery's  moans  a  pitying  ear. 
And  feel'st  with  ecstasy  another's  joys  : 

Who  know'st  man's  frailty  ;  with  a  favouring  eye, 
And  melting  heart,  behold'st  a  brother's  fall ; 
Who,  uncnslaved  by  custom's  narrow  tie, 
With  manly  freedom  follow'st  reason's  call. 

And  bring  thy  Delia,  softly  smiling  fair, 
Whose  spotless  soul  no  sordid  thoughts  deform ; 
Her  accents  mild  would  still  each  throbbing  care, 
And  harmonize  the  thunder  of  the  storm : 

Though  blest  with  wisdom  and  with  wit  refined  j 
She  courts  not  homage,  nor  desires  to  shine  ; 
In  her  each  sentiment  sublime  is  join'd 
To  female  sweetness,  and  a  form  divine. 

Come,  and  dispel  the  deep-surrounding  shade  : 
Let  chasten'd  mirth  the  social  hours  employ  ; 
O  catch  the  swift- wing'd  hour  before  'tis  fled, 
On  swiftest  pinion  flics  the  hour  of  joy. 


186          TRIUMPH  OF  MELANCHOLY. 

Even  while  the  careless  disencumber'd  soul 
Dissolving  sinks  lo  joy's  oblivious  dream, 
Even  then  to  time's  tremendous  verge  we  roll 
With  haste  impetuous  down  life's  surgy  stream. 

Can  gaiety  the  vanish'd  years  restore, 
Or  on  the  withering  limbs  fresh  beauty  shed, 
Or  soothe  the  sad  inevitable  hour, 
Or  cheer  the  dark  dark  mansions  of  the  dead? 

Sti'.l  sound  the  solemn  knell  in  fancy's  ear, 
That  call'd  Cleora  to  the  silent  tomb  ; 
To  her  how  jocund  roll'd  the  sprightly  year ! 
How  shone  the  nymph  in  beauty's  brightest  bloom  I 

Ah !  Beauty's  bloom  avails  not  in  the  grave, 
Youth's  lofty  mien,  nor  age's  awful  grace  ; 
Moulder  unknown  the  monarch  and  the  slave, 
Whelm'd  in  th'  enormous  wreck  of  human  race. 

The  thought  fix'd  portraiture,  the  breathing  bust. 
The  arch  with  proud  memorials  array'd, 
The  long-lived  pyramid  shall  sink  in  dust, 
To  dumb  oblivion's  ever-desert  shade. 

Fancy  from  comfort  wanders  still  astray. 
Ah,  Melancholy  !  how  I  feel  thy  power  ! 
Long  have  I  labour'd  to  elude  thy  sway  ! 
But  'tis  enough,  for  I  resist  no  more. 

The  traveller  thus,  that  o'er  the  midnight  waste 
Through  many  a  lonesome  path  is  dooni'd  to  roam, 
'Wilder'd  and  weary  sits  him  down  at  last  ; 
For  long  the  night,  and  distant  far  his  home. 


197 

EPITAPH 


ON 


ESCAPED  the  gloom  of  mortal  life,  a  sonl 
Here  leaves  its  mouldering  tenement  of  clay, 
Safe,  where  no  cares  their  whelming  billows  roll, 
No  doubts  bewilder,  and  no  hopes  betray. 

Like  thee,  I  once  have  stemm'd  the  sea  of  life; 
Like  thee,  have  languished  after  empty  joys; 
Like  thee,  have  labour'd  in  the  stormy  strife  ; 
Been  grieved  for  trifles,  and  amused  with  toys. 

Yet  for  awhile  'gainst  Passion's  threatfnl  blast 
Lrt  steady  Reason  urge  the  struggling  oar; 
Shot  through  the  dreary  gloom  the  morn  at  last 
Gives  to  thy  longing  eye  the  blissful  shore. 

Forget  my  frailties,  thou  art  also  frail  ; 
Forgive  my  lapses,  for  thyself  may'st  fall  ; 
Nor  read  unmoved  my  artless  tender  tale, 
I  was  a  friend,  O  r"an,  to  thee,  to  all 

t  Juoet  Seattle:  lattaied  for  hiiUMU. 


198 


EPITAPH.* 

NOT.  1,  I7S-. 

TO  this  grave  is  committed 
All  that  the  grave  can  claim 
Of  two  brothers  *  •  •  •  •  and  *•••••••! 

Who  on  the  vii  of  October,  MDCCLVII, 

Both  unfortunately  perished  in  the  •  •  •  water: 

The  one  in  his  xxii,  the  other  in  his  xviii  year. 

Their  disconsolate  father  ••••••••••• 

Erects  this  monument  to  the  memory  of 

These  amiable  youths ; 

Whose  early  virtues  promised 

Uncommon  comfort  to  his  declining  yean 

And  singular  emolument  to  society. 

O  thou!  whose  steps  in  sacred  rev'ronce  tread 
These  lone  dominions  of  the  silent  dead, 
On  this  sad  stone  a  pious  look  bestow, 
Nor  uninstrncted  read  this  tale  of  woe ; 
And  while  the  sigh  of  sorrow  heaves  thy  breast, 
Let  each  rebellious  murmur  be  supprest ; 
Heaven's  hidden  ways  to  trace,  for  us  how  vain ! 
Heaven's  wise  decrees  how  impious  to  arraign ! 
Pure  from  the  stains  of  a  polluted  age, 
In  early  bloom  of  life,  they  left  the  stage  : 
Not  doomM  in  lingering  woe  to  waste  their  breath, 
One  moment  snatch'd  them  from  the  power  of  Death  > 
They  lived  united,  and  united  died  ; 
Happy  the  friends,  whom  death  cannot  divide  ! 

•  Engnred  on  a  tomb-clone  In  the  church-yard  of  Lethuet, 

in  the  tliire  of  Angus. 
»  Named  Lcitcb,  who  were  drowned  ill  crowing  the  rirer  SonthesA. 


199 


ELEGY. 

TIRED  with  the  busy  crowds,  that  all  the  day 
Impatient  throng  where  Folly's  altars  flame. 
My  languid  powers  dissolve  with  quick  decay. 
Till  genial  Sleep  repair  the  sinking  frame. 

Hail,  kind  reviver  !  that  canst  lull  the  cares. 
And  every  weary  sense  compose  to  rest, 
Lighten  th'  oppressive  load  which  languish  bears, 
And  warm  with  hope  the  cold  desponding  breait. 

Touch 'd  by  thy  rod,  from  Power's  majestic  brow 
Drops  the  gay  plume ;  he  pines  a  lowly  clown ; 
And  on  the  cold  earth  stretch'd  the  son  of  Woe 
Quaffs  Pleasure's  draught,  and  wears  a  fancied  crown. 

When  roused  by  thee,  on  boundless  pinions  borne 
Fancy  to  fairy  scenes  exults  to  rove, 
Now  scales  the  cliff  gay-gleaming  on  the  morn, 
Now  sad  and  silent  treads  the  deepening  grove ; 

Or  skims  the  main,  and  listens  to  the  storms, 
Marks  the  long  waves  roll  far  remote  away  ; 
Or  mingling  with  ten  thousand  glittering  forms, 
Floats  on  the  gale,  and  basks  in  purest  day. 

Haply,  ere  long,  pierced  by  the  howling  blast, 
Through  dark  and  pathless  deserts  I  shall  roam. 
Plunge  down  th'  unfathom'd  deep,  or  shrink  aghast 
Where  bursts  the  shrieking  spectre  from  the  tomb  : 

Perhaps  loose  Luxury's  enchanting  smile 
Shall  lure  my  steps  to  some  romantic  dale, 
Where  Mirth's  light  freaks  th'  unheeded  hours  beguile 
And  airs  of  rapture  warlile  in  the  gale. 


200  SONG. 

Instructive  emblem  of  this  mortal  state! 
Where  scenes  as  various  every  hour  arise 
In  swift  succession,  which  the  hand  of  Fate 
Presents,  then  snatches  from  our  wondering  eyes. 

Be  taught,  vain  man,  how  fleeting  all  thy  joys. 
Thy  boasted  grandeur,  and  thy  glittering  store  ; 
Death  comes  and  all  thy  fancied  bliss  destroys, 
Quick  as  a  dream  it  fades,  and  is  no  more. 

And,  sons  of  Sorrow  !  though  the  threatening  storm 
Of  angry  Fortune  overhang  awhile, 
Let  not  her  frowns  your  inward  peace  deform  ; 
Soon  happier  days  in  happier  climes  shall  smile. 

Through  Earth's  throng'd  visions  while  we  toss  forlorn, 
'Tis  tumult  all,  and  rage,  and  restless  strife  ; 
But  these  shall  vanish  like  the  dreams  of  morn, 
When  Death  awakes  us  to  immortal  life. 


SONG, 

IN    IMITATION    OF 

Skaktpeare's  'Biota,  blwo,  thou  winter  wind, 
Blow,  blow,  thou  vernal  gale  ! 
Thy  balm  will  not  avail 
To  ease  my  aching  breast ; 
Though  thou  the  billows  smooth, 
Thy  murmurs  cannot  soothe 
My  weary  soul  to  rest. 
Flow,  flow,  thou  tuneful  stream  ', 
.infuse  the  easy  dream 
Into  the  peaceful  soul ; 
But  thou  canst  not  compose 
The  tumult  of  my  woes, 
Though  soft  thy  waters  roll. 


RETIREMENT.  201 

Blush,  blush,  ye  fairest  flowers! 
Beauties  surpassing  yours 
My  Rosalind  adorn  ; 
Nor  is  the  Winter's  blast 
That  lays  your  glories  waste, 
So  killing  as  her  scorn. 

Breathe,  breathe,  ye  tender  lays. 
That  linger  down  the  maze 
Of  yonder  winding  grove; 
O  let  your  soft  control 
Bend  her  relenting  soul 
To  pity  and  to  love. 

Fade,  fade,  ye  flowrets  fair ! 
Gales,  fan  no  more  the  air ! 
Ye  streams  forget  to  glide  ! 
Be  hush'd,  each  vernal  strain  ; 
Since  nought  can  soothe  my  pain, 
Nor  mitigate  her  pride. 


RETIREMENT. 

1758. 

WHEN  in  the  crimson  cloud  of  even 

The  lingering  light  decays, 

And  Hesper  oa  the  front  of  Heaven 

His  glittering  gem  displays  ; 

Deep  in  the  silent  vale,  unseen, 

Beside  a  lulling  stream, 

A  pensive  youth,  of  placid  mien, 

Indulged  this  tender  theme. 

'  Ye  cliffs,  in  hoary  grandeur  piled 
High  o'er  the  glimmering  dale  ; 
Ye  woods,  along  whose  windings  wild 
Murmurs  the  solemn  gale  : 
K  2 


903  RETIREMENT. 

Where  Melancholy  strays  forlorn. 
And  Woe  retires  to  weep, 
What  time  the  wan  Moon's  yellow  horn 
Gleams  on  the  western  deep  : 

*  To  you,  ye  wastes,  whose  artless  charms 
Ne'er  drew  ambition's  eye, 

'Scaped  a  tumultuous  world's  alarms, 

To  your  retreats  I  fly. 

Deep  in  your  most  sequestcr'd  bower 

Let  me  at  last  recline, 

Where  Solitude,  mild,  modest  power, 

Leans  on  her  ivy'd  shrine. 

*  How  shall  I  woo  thee,  matchless  fair ! 
Thy  heavenly  smile  how  win? 

Thy  smile  that  smooths  the  brow  of  Care, 

And  stills  the  storm  within. 

O  wilt  thou  to  thy  favourite  grove 

Thine  ardent  votary  bring, 

And  bless  his  hours,  and  bid  them  more 

Serene,  on  silent  wing  ? 

'  Oft  let  Remembrance  soothe  his  mind 
With  dreams  of  former  days, 
When  in  the  lap  of  Peace  reclined 
He  framed  l:is  infant  lays; 
When  Fancy  roved  at  large,  nor  Care 
Nor  cold  Distrust  alarm'd, 
Nor  Envy  with  malignant  glare 
His  simple  youth  had  harm'd. 

'  Twas  then,  O  Solitude  !  to  thee 
His  early  vows  were  paid, 
From  heart  sincere,  and  warm,  and  free, 
Devoted  to  the  shade. 

v 


RETIREMENT.  203 

Ah  why  did  Fate  his  steps  decoy 
In  stormy  paths  to  roam. 
Remote  from  all  congenial  joy  !— 
O  take  the  wanderer  home. 

'  Thy  shades,  thy  silence  now  be  mine, 
Thy  charms  my  only  theme; 
My  haunt  the  hollow  cliff,  whose  pine 
Waves  o'er  the  gloomy  stream. 
Whence  the  scared  owl  on  pinions  gray 
Breaks  from  the  rustling  boughs, 
And  down  the  lone  vale  sails  away 
To  more  profound  repose. 

'  O,  while  to  thee  the  woodland  pours 

Its  wildly  warbling  song, 

And  balmy  from  the  bank  of  flowers 

The  Zephyr  breathes  along; 

Let  no  rude  sound  invade  from  far, 

No  vagrant  foot  be  nigh, 

No  ray  fom  Grandeur's  gilded  car 

Flash  on  the  startled  eye. 

• 

*  But  if  some  pilgrim  through  the  glade 

Thy  hallow'd  bowers  explore, 

O  guard  from  harm  his  hoary  head. 

And  listen  to  his  lore ; 

For  he  of  joys  divine  shall  tell, 

That  wean  from  earthly  woe, 

And  triumph  o'er  the  mighty  spell 

That  chains  his  heart  below. 

'  For  me,  no  more  the  path  invites 
Ambition  loves  to  tread  ; 
No  more  I  climb  those  toilsome  hcigbU, 
By  guileful  Hope  misled  ; 


204  ELKGY. 

Leaps  my  fond  fluttering  heart  no  more 
To  Mirth's  enlivening  strain  ; 
For  present  pleasure  soon  is  o'er, 
And  all  the  past  is  vain/ 


ELEGY, 
Written  in  the  Year  1 758. 

STILL  shall  unthinking  man  substantial  deem 

The  forms  that  fleet  through  life's  deceitful  dreamt 

Till  at  some  stroke  of  Fate  the  vision  flies, 

And  sad  realities  in  prospect  rise  ; 

And,  from  elysian  slumbers  rudely  torn, 

The  startled  soul  awakes,  to  think  and  mourn. 

O  ye,  whose  hours  in  jocund  train  advance, 
Whose  spirits  to  the  song  of  gladness  dance, 
Who  flowery  plains  in  endless  pomp  survey, 
Glittering  in  beams  of  visionary  day; 
O,  yet  while  Fate  delays  th'  impending  woe, 
Be  reused  to  thought,  anticipate  the  blow  ; 
Lest,  like  the  lightning's  glance,  the  sudden  ill 
Flash  to  confound,  and  penetrate  to  kill ; 
Lest,  thus  encompass'd  with  funereal  gloom. 
Like  me,  ye  bend  o'er  some  untimely  tomb, 
Pour  your  wild  ravings  in  Night's  frighted  ear. 
And  half  pronounce  Heaven's  sacred  doom  severe. 

Wise,  beauteous,  good  !    O  every  grace  combined. 
That  charms  the  eye,  or  captivates  the  mind ! 
Fresh  as  the  floweret  opening  on  the  morn, 
Whose  leaves  bright  drops  of  liquid  pearl  adorn! 
Sweet  as  the  downy-pinion'd  gale,  that  roves 
To  gather  fragrance  in  Arabian  groves! 
Mild  as  the  melodies  at  close  of  day, 
That  heard  remote  along  the  vale  decay  ! 


ELS:GY.  205 

Yet,  why  with  these  compared  ?    What  tints  so  fine, 

What  sweetness,  mildness,  can  be  match'd  with  thine T 

Why  roam  abroad.,  since  recollection  true 

Restores  the  lovely  form  to  Fancy's  view; 

Still  let  me  gaze,  and  every  care  brguile, 

Gaze  on  that  cheek,  where  all  the  Graces  smile; 

Tliat  soul  expressing  eye,  benignly  bright, 

Where  Meekness  beams  ineffable  delight; 

That  brow,  where  Wisdom  sits  enthroned  serene, 

Each  feature  forms,  and  dignifies  the  mien: 

Still  let  me  listen,  while  her  words  impart 

The  sweet  effusions  of  the  blameless  heart, 

Till  all  my  soul,  each  tumult  charm'd  away, 

Yields,  gently  led,  to  Virtue's  easy  sway. 

15y  thee  inspired,  O  Virtue,  age  is  young, 
And  music  warbles  from  the  faltering  tongue  • 
Thy  ray  creative  cheers  the  clouded  brow, 
And  decks  the  faded  check  with  rosy  glow, 
Brightens  the  joyless  aspect,  and  supplies 
Pure  heavenly  lustre  to  the  languid  eyes: 
But  when  youth's  living  bloom  reflects  thy  beam* 
Resistless  on  the  view  the  glory  streams, 
Love,  wonder,  joy,  alternately  alarm, 
And  beauty  dazzles  with  angelic  charm. 

Ah,  whither  fled  !  ye  dear  illusions,  stay! 
Lo,  pale  and  silent  lies  the  lovely  clay. 
How  are.  the  roses  on  that  cheek  decay'd, 
Which  late  t'he  purple  light  of  youth  display'd  ! 
Health  on  her  form  each  sprightly  grace  bestow'd  : 
With  life  and  thought  each  speaking  feature  glow'd. 
Fair  was  the  blossom,  soft  the  vernal  sky  ; 
Klate  with  hope  we  deem'd  no  tempest  nigh : 
When  lo,  a  whirlwind's  instantaneous  gust 
Left  all  its  beauties  withering  in  the  dust. 

Cold  the  soft  hand ,  that  sooth'd  Woe's  weary  bead '. 
And  quench 'd  the  eye,  the  pitying  tear  that  shed! 


206 

And  mute  the  voice,  whose  pleasing  accents  stole, 
Infusing  balm,  into  the  rankled  soul ! 

O  Death,  why  arm  with  cruelty  thy  power, 
And  spare  the  idle  weed,  yet  lop  the  flower? 
Why  fly  thy  shafts  in  lawless  error  driven? 
Is  Virtue  then  no  more  the  care  of  Heaven? 
But  peace,  bold  thought!  be  still,  my  bursting  heart • 
We,  not  Eliza,  felt  the  fatal  dart. 

Kscapcd  the  dungeon,  does  the  slave  complain, 
Nor  bless  the  friendly  hand  that  broke  the  chain? 
Say,  nines  not  Virtue  for  the  lingering  morn, 
On  this  dark  wild  condemn'd  to  roam  forlorn! 
Where  Reason's  meteor-rays,  with  sickly  glow, 
O'er  the  dun  gloom  a  dreadful  glimmering  throw  j 
Disclosing  dubious  to  th1  affrighted  eye 
O'crwhelming  mountains  tottering  from  on  high, 
Black  billowy  deeps  in  storms  perpetual  toss'd, 
And  weary  ways  in  wildering  labyrinths  lost. 
O  happy  stroke,  that  burst  the  bonds  of  clay, 
Darts  through  the  rending  gloom  the  blaze  of  day. 
And  wings  the  soul  with  boundless  flight  to  soar, 
Where  dangers  threat  and  fears  alarm  no  more. 

Transporting  thought!  here  let  me  wipe  away 
The  tear  of  Grief,  and  wake  a  boleler  lay. 
But  ah  !  the  swimming  eye  o'erflows  anew  j 
Nor  check  the  sacred  drops  to  Pity  due  ; 
Lo,  where  in  speechless,  hopeless  anguish,  bend 
O'er  her  loved  dust,  the  parent,  brother,  friend ! 
How  vain  the  hope  of  man !  but  cease  thy  strain, 
Nor  sorrow's  dread  solemnity  profane  ; 
Mix'd  with  yon  drooping  mourners,  on  her  bier 
In  silence  shed  the  sympathetic  tear. 


207 

ODE  TO  HOPE. 

I.    1. 

O  THOO,  who  gladd'st  the  pensive  tool, 
More  than  Aurora's  smile  the  swain  forlorn, 
Left  all  night  long  to  mourn 
Where  desolation  frowns,  and  tempests  howl ; 
And  shrieks  of  woe,  as  intermits  the  storm, 
Far  o'er  the  monstrous  wilderness  resound, 
And  'cross  the  gloom  darts  many  a  shapeless  form, 
And  many  a  fire  eyed  visage  glares  around. 
O  come,  and  be  once  more  my  guest : 
Come,  for  thou  oft  thy  suppliant's  vow  hast  heard, 
And  oft  with  smiles  indulgent  cheer'd 
And  sooth M  him  into  rest. 

I.   2. 

Smit  by  thy  rapture-beaming  eye 

Deep  dashing  through  the  midnight  of  their  mind, 

The  sable  bands  combined, 

Where  Fear's  black  banner  bloats  the  troubled  Ay 

Appall'd  retire.     Suspicion  hides  her  head, 

Nor  dares  th'  obliquely  gleaming  eye-ball  raise; 

Despair,  with  gorgon-figured  veil  o'eispread, 

Spoeds  to  dark  Phlegethon's  detested  maze. 

Lo,  startled  at  the  heavenly  ray, 

With  speed  unwonted  Indolence  upsprings, 

And,  heaving,  lifts  her  leaden  wings, 

And  sullen  glides  away  : 

I.   3. 

Ten  thousand  forms,  by  pining  Fancy  view'd, 
Dissolve. — Above  the  sparkling  flood 
When  Phoebus  rears  his  awful  brow, 
From  lengthening  lawn  and  valley  low 


208  ODE  TO  HOPE. 

The  troops  of  fe  -  or:i  mists  retire. 

Along  the  pl;ii;i 

The  joyous  swain 

Eyes  the  gay  villages  again, 

And  gold-illurnined  spire  ; 

While  on  the  billowy  ether  borne 

Floats  the  loose  lay's  jovial  measure  ; 

And  light  along  the  fairy  Pleasure, 

Her  green  robes  glittering  to  the  morn, 

Wantons  on  silken  wing.     And  goblins  all 

To  the  damp  dungeon  shrink,  or  hoary  hall; 

Or  westward,  with  impetuous  flight, 

Shoot  to  the  desert  realms  of  their  congenial  night. 

II.  1. 

When  first  on  childhood's  eager  gaze 

Life's  varied  landscape,  stretch'd  immense  around, 

Starts  out  of  night  profound, 

Thy  voice  incites  to  tempt  th'  untrodden  maze. 

Fond  he  surveys  thy  mild  maternal  face, 

His  bashful  eye  still  kindling  as  he  views, 

And,  while  thy  lenient  arm  supports  his  pace, 

With  beating  heart  the  upland  path  pursues: 

The  path  that  leads,  where,  hung  sublime, 

And  seen  afar,  youth's  gallant  trophies,  bright 

In  Fancy's  rainbow  ray,  invite 

His  wingy  nerves  to  climb. 

II.  2. 

Pursue  thy  pleasurable  way, 
Safe  in  tlie  guidance  of  thy  heavenly  guard, 
While  melting  airs  are  heard, 
And  soft-evod  cherub-forms  around  thee  play: 
Simplicity,  in  c<»reless  flowers  array'd, 
Prattling  amusive.  in  his  accent  meek  j 
And  Modesty,  half  turning  as  afraid, 
The  smile  just  dimpling  on  his  glowing  cheek  \ 


ODE  TO  HOPE.  209 

Content  and  Leisure,  hand  in  hand 

With  Innocence  and  Peace,  advance,  and  sing  ; 

And  Mirth,  in  many  a  mazy  ring, 

Frisks  o'er  the  flowery  land. 

II.  3. 

Frail  man,  how  various  is  thy  lot  below  ! 
To-day  though  gales  propitious  blow, 
And  Peace  soft  gliding  down  the  sky 
Lead  Love  along,  and  Harmony, 
To-morrow  the  gay  scene  deforms  j 
Then  all  around 
The  thunder's  sound 

Rolls  rattling  on  through  Heaven's  profound, 
And  down  rush  all  the  storms. 
Ye  days,  that  balmy  influence  shed, 
When  sweet  childhood,  ever  sprightly, 
In  paths  of  pleasure  sported  lightly, 
Whither,  ah  whither  are  yc  fled  ? 
Ye  cherub  train,  that  brought  him  on  his  way, 
O  leave  him  not  'midst  tumult  and  dismay  j 
For  now  youth's  eminence  he  gains  : 
But  what  a  weary  length  of  lingering  toil  remain*! 

III.  1. 

They  shrink,  they  vanish  into  air, 
New  Slander  taints  with  pestilence  the  gale  ; 
And  ming'.ing  cries  assail, 
The  wail  of  Woe,  and  groan  of  grim  Despair. 
Lo,  wizard  Envy  from  his  serpent  eye 
Darts  quick  destruction  in  each  baleful  glance 
Pride  smiling  stern,  and  yellow  Jealousy, 
Frowning  Disdain,  and  haggard  Hate  advance; 
Behold,  amidst  the  dire  array, 
Pale  wither'd  Care  his  giant-stature  rears, 
And  lo,  his  iron  hand  prepares 
To  grasp  its  feeble  prey. 


210  ODE  TO  HOPE. 

III.  2. 

Who  now  will  guard  bewilder'd  youth 

Safe  from  the  fierce  assault  of  hostile  rage  T 

Such  war  can  Virtue  wage, 

Virtue,  that  bears  the  sacred  shield  of  Truth? 

A  'as  !  full  oft  on  Guilt's  victorious  car 

Tiie  spoils  of  Virtue  are  in  triumph  borne; 

While  the  fair  captive,  mark'd  with  many  a  scar, 

In  long  obscurity,  oppress'd,  forlorn, 

Resigns  to  tears  her  angel  form. 

Ill-fated  youth,  then  whither  wilt  thou  fly  ? 

No  friend,  no  shelter  now  is  nigh, 

And  onward  rolls  the  storm. 

III.  3. 

But  whence  the  sudden  beam  that  shoots  along? 

Why  shrink  aghast  the  hostile  throng? 

Lo,  from  amidst  affliction's  night 

Hope  bursts  all  radiant  on  the  sight: 

Her  words  the  troubled  bosom  soothe. 

'  Why  thus  dismay'd? 

Though  foes  invade, 

Hope  ne'er  is  wanting  to  their  aid, 

Who  read  the  path  of  truth. 

Tit  I,  who  smooth  the  rugged  way, 

I,  who  close  the  eyes  of  Sorrow, 

And  with  glad  visions  of  to-morrow 

Repair  the  weary  soul's  decay. 

When  Death's  cold  touch  thrills  to  the  freezing  heart, 

Dreams  of  Heaven's  opening  glories  I  impart, 

Till  the  freed  spirit  springs  on  high 

In  rapture  too  severe  for  weak  mortality.' 


211 
P  t'G  M^EO-GERANO-MACHIA  : 

THE 
BATTLE  OF  THE  PYGMIES  AND  CRANES. 

FROM  THE   LATIN   OF   ADBISON. 
1781 

THE  pygmy-people,  and  the  feather'd  train, 
Mingling  in  mortal  combat  on  the  plain, 
I  sing.    Ye  Muses,  favour  my  designs, 
Lead  on  my  squadrons,  and  arrange  the  lines: 
The  flashing  swords  and  fluttering  wings  display, 
And  long  bills  nibbling  in  the  bloody  fray  ; 
Cranes  darting  with  disdain  on  tiny  foes, 
Conflicting  birds  and  men,  and  war's  unuumber'd  woe 

The  wars  and  woes  of  heroes  six  feet  long 
Have  oft  resounded  in  Pierian  song. 
Who  has  not  heard  of  Colchos'  golden  fleece, 
And  Argo  mann'd  with  all  the  flower  of  Greece  1 
Of  Thebes'  fell  brethren,  Theseus  stern  of  face, 
And  Peleus'  son  unrivall'd  in  the  race, 
Eneas,  founder  of  the  Roman  line, 
And  William,  glorious  on  the  banks  of  Boy net 
Who  has  not  learn'd  to  weep  at  Pompey'«  woea  ; 
And  over  Blackmore's  epic  page  to  doze  ? 
'Tis  I,  who  dare  attempt  unusual  strains 
Of  hosts  unsung,  and  unfrequented  plains ; 
The  small  shriH  trump,  and  chiefs  of  little  size, 
And  armies  rushing  down  the  darkened  skies. 

Where  India  reddens  to  the  early  dawn, 
Winda  a  deep  vale  from  vulgar  eye  withdrawn  : 
Bosom'd  in  groves  the  lowly  region  lies. 
And  rocky  mountains  round  the  border  rise. 


212  PYGMJEO-GMIANO  MACHIA. 

Here,  till  the  doom  of  fate  its  fall  decreed, 
The  empire  flourished  of  the  pygmy-breed  ; 
Here  Industry  perform 'd,  and  Genius  plann'd, 
And  busy  multitudes  o'ersprcad  the  land. 
But  now  to  these  long  bounds  if  pilgrim  stray, 
Tempting  through  craggy  cliffs  the  desperate  way, 
He  finds  the  puny  mansion  fallen  to  earth, 
Its  godliugs  mouldering  on  th'  abaudon'd  hearth  ; 
And  starts,  where  small  white  bones  are  spread  around, 
'  Or  little  footsteps  lightly  print  the  ground  ;' 
While  the  proud  crane  her  nest  securely  builds, 
Chattering  amid  the  desolated  fields. 

But  different  fates  befel  her  hostile  rage, 
While  reign'd,  invincible  through  many  an  age, 
The  dreaded  pygmy  :  roused  by  war's  alarms, 
Forth  rusli'd  the  madding  mannikin  to  arms. 
Fierce  to  the  field  of  death  the  hero  flies; 
The  faint  crane  fluttering  flaps  the  ground,  and  dies; 
And  by  the  victor  borne  (o'erwhelming  load  !) 
With  bloody  bill  loose-dangling  marks  the  road. 
And  oft  the  wily  dwarf  in  airbush  lay, 
And  often  made  the  callow  young  his  prey  ; 
With  slaughter'd  victims  heap'd  his  board,  and  smil'd, 
T'  avenge  the  parent's  trespass  on  the  child. 
Oft,  where  his  feather'd  foe  Lad  rear'd  her  nest, 
And  laid  her  eggs  and  household  gods  to  rest, 
Burning  for  blood,  in  terrible  array, 
The  eighteen  inch  militia  burst  their  way; 
A1J  went  to  wreck:  the  infant  foeman  fell, 
Whence  scarce  his  chirping  bill  had  broke  the  shell.    " 

Loud  uproar  hence,  and  rage  of  arms  arose, 
And  the  fell  rancour  of  encountering  foes; 
Hence  dwaifs  and  cranes  one  general  havoc  whelms, 
And  Death's  grim  visage  scares  the  pygmy-realms. 
Not  half  so  furious  blazed  the  warlike  fire 
Of  mice,  high  theme  of  the  Meoniau  lyre  ; 


PYGMJEOGERANO  MACHIA.  213 

When  bold  to  battle  niarch'd  th"  accoutred  frogs, 
And  the  deep  tumult  thuuder'd  through  the  bogs, 
Pierced  by  the  javelin  bulrush  on  the  shore 
Here  agonizing  roll'd  the  mouse  in  gore; 
And  there  the  frog  (a  scene  full  sad  to  see  !) 
Shorn  of  one  leg,  slow  sprawl'd  along  on  three: 
He  vaults  no  more  with  vigorous  hops  on  high, 
But  mourns  in  hoarsest  croaks  his  destiny. 

And  now  the  day  of  woe  drew  on  apace, 
A  day  of  woe  to  all  the  pygmy-race, 
When  dwarfs  were  doom'd  (but  penitence  was  vain) 
To  rue  each  broken  egg,  and  chicken  slain. 
For,  roused  to  vengeance  by  repeated  wrong, 
From  distant  clinics  the  long-bill'd  legions  throng  : 
From  Strymon's  lake,  Cayster's  vlashy  meads, 
And  fens  of  Scythia,  green  with  rustling  reeds, 
From  where  the  Danube  winds  through  many  a  land, 
And  Mareotis  laves  th'  Egyptian  strand, 
To  rendezvous  they  waft  on  eager  wing, 
And  wait  assembled  the  returning  spring. 
Meanwhile  they  trim  their  plumes  for  length  of  flight, 
Whet  their  keen  beaks,  and  twisting  claws,  for  fight; 
Each  crane  the  pygmy  power  in  thought  o'erturns, 
And  every  bosom  for  the  battle  burns. 

When  genial  gales  the  frozen  air  unbind, 
The  screaming  legions  wheel,  and  mount  the  wind  ; 
Far  in  the  sky  they  form  their  long  array, 
And  land  and  ocean  stretch 'd  immense  survey 
Deep  deep  beneath;  and,  triumphing  in  pride, 
With  clouds  and  winds  commix'd,  innumerous  ride: 
'Tis  wild  obstreperous  clangour  all,  and  heaven 
Whirls,  in  tempestuous  undulation  driven. 

Nor  less  th'  alarm  that  shook  the  world  below, 
Where  march'd  in  pomp  of  war  th'  embattled  foe  : 
Where  mannikins  with  haughty  step  advance, 
And  grasp  the  shield,  and  couch  the  quivering  lance  : 


214  PYGMJF.O.fiEUAXO  M  \CHI.4. 

To  right  and  left  the  lengthening  lines  they  form, 
And  rauk'il  in  deep  array  await  the  storm. 

High  in  the  midst  the  chieftain-dwarf  was  seen, 
Of  giant  stature,  and  imperial  mien  : 
Full  twenty  inches  tall,  he  strode  along, 
And  view'd  with  lofty  eye  the  wondering  throng  : 
And  while  with  many  a  scar  his  visage  frown'd, 
Bared  his  broad  bosom,  rough  with  many  a  wound 
Of  beaks  and  claws,  disclosing  to  their  sight 
The  glorious  meed  of  high  heroic  might. 
For  with  insatiate  vengeance  he  pursued, 
And  never-ending  hate,  the  feathery  brood. 
Unhappy  they,  confiding  in  the  length 
Of  horny  beak-,  or  talon's  crooked  strength, 
Who  durst  abide  his  rage  ;  the  blade  descends, 
And  from  the  panting  trunk  the  pinion  rends  : 
Laid  low  in  dust  the  pinion  waves  no  more, 
The  trunk  disfigured  stiffens  in  its  goie. 
What  hosts  of  heroes  fell  beneath  his  force! 
What  heaps  of  chicken  carnage  mark'd  his  course  ! 
How  oft,  O  Strymon,  thy  lone  banks  along, 
Did  wailing  Echo  waft  the  funeral  song  ! 

And  now  from  far  the  mingling  clamours  rise, 
Loud  and  more  loud  rebounding  through  the  skiet. 
From  sliirt  to  skirt  of  Heaven,  with  stormy  sway, 
A  cloud  rolls  on,  and  darkens  all  the  day. 
Near  and  more  near  descends  the  dreadful  shade, 
And  now  in  battailous  array  display'd, 
On  sounding  wings,  and  screaming  in  their  ire, 
The  cranes  rush  onward,  and  the  fight  require. 

The  pygmy  warriors  eye  with  fearless  glare 
The  host  thick  swarming  o'er  the  burthen'd  air ; 
Thick  swarming  now,  but  to  their  native  land 
Doom'd  to  return  a  scanty  straggling  band. — 
When  sudden,  darting  down  the  depth  of  Heaven, 
Fierce  on  th'  expecting  foe  the  cranes  are  driven, 


PYGMLKOGKRANOMACHIA.          215 

The  kind'.ing  frenzy  every  bosom  warms, 

The  region  echoes  to  the  crash  of  arms  : 

Loose  feathers  from  tV  encountering  armies  fly, 

And  in  careering  whirlwinds  mount  the  sky. 

To  breathe  from  toil  upsprings  the  panting  crane, 

Then  with  fresh  vigour  downward  darts  again. 

Success  in  equal  balance  hovering  hangs. 

Here,  on  the  sharp  spear,  mad  with  mortal  pangs, 

The  bird  transfix'd  in  bloody  vortex  whirls. 

Yet  fierce  in  death  the  threatening  talon  curls  j 

There,  while  the  life-blood  bubbles  from  his  wound, 

With  little  feet  the  pygmy  beats  the  grounc"; 

Deep  from  his  breast  the  short  short  sob  he  draws, 

And,  dying,  curses  the  keen- pointed  claws. 

Trembles  the  thundering  field,  thick  cover'd  o'er 

With  falchions,  mangled  wings,  and  streaming  go'/e, 

And  pygmy  arms,  and  beaks  of  ample  size, 

And  here  a  claw,  and  there  a  finger  lies. 

Encompass'd  round  with  heaps  of  slaughtered  foe*, 
All  grim  in  blood  the  pigmy  champion  glows, 
And  on  th'  assailing  host  impetuous  springs, 
Careless  of  nibbling  bills,  and  flapping  wings ; 
And  'midst  the  tumult,  whercsoe'er  he  turns. 
The  battle  with  redoubled  fury  burns ; 
From  ev'ry  side  th'  avenging  cranes  amain 
Throug,  to  o'erwhelm  this  terror  of  the  plain. 
When  suddenly  (for  such  the  will  of  Jove) 
A  fowl  enormous,  sousing  from  above, 
The  gallant  chieftain  clutch'd,  and  soaring  high, 
(Sad  chance  of  battle!)  bore  him  up  the  sky. 
The  cranes  pursue,  and  clustering  in  a  ring, 
Chatter  triumphant  round  the  captive  king. 
But  ah!  what  pangs  each  pygmy  bosom  wrung, 
WLen,  now  to  cranes  a  prey,  on  talons  hung, 
High  in  the  clouds  they  saw  their  helpless  lord, 
His  wriggling  form  still  lessening  as  he  soar'd. 


216  PYGMjEO  GKRANO  MACHIA. 

Lo!  yet  again,  with  unabated  rage, 
In  mortal  stri-fe  the  mingling  hosts  engage. 
The  crane  with  darted  bill  assaults  the  foe, 
Hovering  ;  then  wheels  aloft  to  'scape  the  blow  : 
The  dwarf  in  anguish  aims  the  vengeful  wound  : 
But  whirls  in  empty  air  the  falchion  round. 

Such  was  the  scene,  when  'midst  the  loud  alarm! 
Sublime  th'  eternal  Thunderer  rose  iu  arms. 
When  Briareus,  by  mad  amlntioR  driven, 
Heaved  Pelion  huge,  and  hurl'd  it  high  at  Heaven, 
Jove  roll'd  redoubling  thunders  from  on  high, 
Mountains  and  bolts  encounter'd  in  the  sky  j 
Till  one  stupendous  ruin  whelm'd  the  crew, 
Their  vast  limbs  weltering  wide  in  brimstone  bine. 

But  now  at  length  the  pygmy  legions  yield, 
And  wing'd  with  terror  fly  the  fatal  field. 
They  raise  a  weak  and  melancholy  wail, 
All  in  distract  ion  scattering  o'er  the  vale. 
Prone  on  their  routed  rear  the  cranes  descend  ; 
Their  bills  bite  furious,  and  their  talons  rend  : 
With  unrelenting  ire  they  urge  the  chase, 
Sworn  to  exterminate  the  hated  race. 
'T\vas  thus  the  pygmy  name,  once  great  in  war, 
For  spoils  of  conquer'd  cranes  renown'd  afar, 
Perisli'd.     For,  by  the  dread  decree  of  Heaven, 
Short  is  the  date  to  earthly  grandeur  given, 
And  vain  are  all  attempts  to  roam  beyond 
Where  fate  has  fix'd  the  everlasting  bound. 
Fallen  are  the  trophies  of  Assyrian  power, 
And  Persia's  proud  dominion  is  no  more; 
Yea.,  though  to  both  superior  far  in  fame, 
Thine  empire,  Latium,  is  an  empty  name. 

And  now  with  lofty  chiefs  of  ancient  time, 
The  pygmy  heroes  roam  th'  elysian  clime. 
Or,  if  belief  to  matron  tales  be  due, 
Full  oft,  in  the  belated  shepherd's  view, 


THE    HARES.  217 

Their  frisking  forms,  in  gentle  green  array'd» 
Gambol  secure  amid  the  moonlight  glade. 
Secure,  for  no  alarming  cranes  molest, 
And  all  their  woes  in  long  oblivion  rest: 
Down  the  deep  vale,  and  narrow  winding  way, 
They  foot  it  featly,  ranged  in  ringlets  gay  : 
Tis  joy  and  frolic  all,  where'er  they  rove, 
Aud  Fairy-people  is  the  name  they  love. 


THE   HARES. 

A   FABLE. 

YES,  yes,  I  ^rant  the  sons  of  Karth 
Are  doom'd  to  trouble  from  their  birth. 
We  all  of  sorrow  have  our  share ; 
But  say,  is  yours  without  compare? 
Look  round  the  world  ;  perhaps  you'll  find 
Each  individual  of  our  kind 
Press'ci  with  an  equal  load  of  ill, 
Equal  at  least.    Look  further  still, 
And  own  your  lamentable  case 
Is  little  short  of  happiness. 
In  yonder  hut  that  sumds  alone 
Attend  to  Famine's  feeble  moan; 
Or  view  the  couch  where  Sickness  lies, 
Mark  his  pale  cheek,  and  languid  eye«, 
His  frame  by  strong  convulsion  torn, 
His  struggling  sighs,  and  looks  forlorn. 
Or  see,  transfix'd  with  keener  pangs, 
Where  o'er  his  hoard  the  miser  hangs  j 
Whistles  the  wind ;  he  starts,  he  stares. 
Nor  Slumber's  balmy  blessing  shares, 
Despair,  Remorse,  and  Terror  roll 
Their  tempests  on  bis  harass'd  soul. 
L 


218  n-lK    HARKS. 

But  hero  perhaps  it  raav  avail 
T'  enforce  our  reasoning  with  a  tale. 

Mild  was  the  morn,  the  sky  serene, 
The  jolly  hunting  hand  con>'ene, 
The  beagle's  breast  with  ardour  burns, 
The  bounding  steed  the  champaign  spurns, 
And  Fancy  oft  the  game  descries 
Through  the  hound's  nose,  and  huntsman's  eye*. 

Just  then,  a  council  of  the  hares 
Had  met,  on  national  affairs. 
The«hiefs  were  s-et;  while  o'er  their  head 
The  furze  its  frizzled  covering  spread. 
Long  lists  of  grievances  were  heard, 
And  general  discontent  appear'd. 
'Our  harmless  race  sluill  every  savage 
Both  quadruped  and  biped  ravage  ? 
Shall  horses,  hounds,  and  hunters  still 
Unite  their  wits  to  work  us  ill  ? 
The  youth,  his  parent's  sole  delight, 
Whose  tooth  the  dewy  lawns  invite, 
Whose  pulse  in  every  vein  beats  strong, 
Whose  limbs  leap  light  the  vales  along, 
May  yet  ere  noontide  meet  his  death, 
And  lie  dismember'd  on  the  heath. 
For  youth,  alas,  nor  cautious  age, 
Nor  strength,  nor  speed,  eludes  their  rage. 
In  every  field  we  meet  the  foe, 
Each  gale  comes  fraught  with  sounds  of  woe} 
The  morning  but  awakes  our  fears, 
The  evening  sees  us  bathed  in  tears. 
But  must  we  ever  idly  grieve, 
Nor  strive  our  fortunes  to  relieve  ? 
Small  is  each  individual's  force : 
To  stratagem  be  our  recourse ; 
And  then,  from  all  our  tribes  combined. 
The  murderer  to  bis  cost  may  find 


THE    HA  UBS.  219 

No  foes  are  weak,  whom  Justice  arms, 
Whom  Concord  leaos,  and  Hatred  warms. 
Be  roused  :  or  liberty  acquire, 
Or  in  the  great  attempt  expire.' 
He  said  no  more,  for  in  his  breast 
Conflicting  thoughts  the  voice  suppress'd ' 
The  fire  01  vengeance  seem'd  to  stream 
From  1m  swoln  eyeball's  yellow  gleam. 

And  now  the  tumults  of  the  war, 
Mingling  confusedly  from  afar, 
Swell  in  the  wind.    Now  louder  cries 
Distinct  of  hounds  and  men  arise. 
Forth  from  tne  brake,  with  beating  heart, 
Th'  assembled  hares  tumultuous  start, 
And,  every  straining  nerve  on  wing, 
Away  precipitately  spring. 
The  hunting  oand,  a  signal  given, 
Thick  thundering  o'er  the  plain  are  driven  ; 
O'er  cliff  abrup1:,  and  shrubby  mound, 
And  river  broad,  impetuous  bound  : 
Now  plunge  amid  the  forest  shades, 
Glance  through  the  openings  of  the  glades  ; 
Now  o'er  the  level  valley  sweep, 
Now  \vitii  snort  steps  strain  up  the  steep  ; 
While  backward  from  the  hunter's  eyes 
The  landscape  like  a  torrent  flics. 
At  last  an  ancient  wood  they  gain'd, 
By  pruner's  axe  yet  unprofaned. 
High  o'er  the  rest,  by  Nature  rear'd, 
The  oak's  majestic  boughs  appear'd  : 
Beneath,  a  copse  of  various  hue 
In  barbarous  luxuriance  grew. 
No  knife  had  curb'd  the  rambling  sprays. 
No  hand  had  wove  th'  implicit  maze. 
The  flowering  thorn,  self-taught  to  wind. 
The  hazel's  stubborn  stem  intwined, 
.Q 


220  THE    HARKS. 

And  bramble  twigs  were  vvivath'd  around, 
And  rough  furze  crept  along  the  ground. 
Here  sheltering  from  the  sons  of  murther. 
The  hares  drag  their  tired  limbs  no  further, 

But  lo,  the  western  wind  ere  long 
Was  loud,  and  roar'd  the  woods  among; 
From  rustling  leaves  and  crashing  boughs 
The,  sound  of  woe  and  war  arose. 
The  hares  distracted  scour  the  grove, 
As  terror  and  amazement  drove; 
But  danger,  wheresoe'cr  they  fled, 
Still  seem'd  impending  o'er  their  head. 
Now  crowded  in  a  grotto's  gloom, 
All  hope  extinct,  they  wait  their  doom. 
Dire  was  the  silence,  till,  at  length, 
Even  from  despair  deriving  strength, 
With  bloody  eyo  and  furious  look, 
A  daring  youth  arose  and  spoke. 

'  O  wretched  race,  the  scorn  of  Fate, 
Whom  ills  of  every  sort  await ! 
O,  cursed  with  keenest  sense  to  feel 
The  sharpest  sting  of  every  ill ! 
Say  ye,  who  fraught  with  mighty  scheme, 
Of  liberty  and  vengeance  dream, 
What  now  remains?  To  what  recess 
Shall  we  our  weary  steps  address, 
Since  Fate  is  evermore  pursuing 
All  ways,  and  means  to  work  our  ruin? 
Are  we  alone,  of  all  beneath, 
Condenm'd  to  misery  worse  than  death? 
Must  we,  with  fruitless  labour,  strive 
In  misery  worse  than  death  to  live  ? 
No.     Be  the  smaller  ill  our  choice: 
So  dictates  Nature's  powerful  voice. 
Death's  pang  will  in  a  moment  cease ; 
And  then,  All  hail,  eternal  poace  !* 


1'iih   HAilES.  221 

Thus  while  he  spoke,  his  words  impart 
The  dire  resolve  to  every  heart. 

A  distant  lake  in  prospect  lay, 
That,  glittering  in  the  solar  ray, 
Gleam'd  through  the  dusky  trees,  and  shot 
A  tremb'ing  light  along  the  grot. 
Thither  with  one  consent  they  bend, 
Their  sorrows  with  their  lives  to  end  ; 
While  each,  in  thought,  already  hears 
The  water  hissing  in  his  ears. 
Fast  by  the  margin  of  the  lake, 
Conceal'd  within  a  thorny  brake, 
A  linnet  sate,  whose  careless  lay 
Amused  the  solitary  day. 
Careless  he  sung,  for  on  his  breast 
Sorrow  no  lasting  trace  impress'd  ; 
When  suddenly  he  heard  a  sound 
Of  swift  feet  traversing  the  ground. 
Quick  to  the  neighbouring  tree  he  flies, 
Thence  trembling  casts  around  his  eyes  ; 
No  foe  appear'd,  his  fears  were  vain  ; 
Pleased  he  renews  the  sprightly  strain. 

The  hares,  whose  noise  had  caused  his  fright, 
Saw  with  surprise  the  linnet's  flight. 

*  Is  there  on  earth  a  wretch/  they  said, 

•  Whom  our  approach  can  strike  with  dread  T' 
An  instantaneous  change  of  thought 

To  tumult  every  bosom  wrought. 
So  fares  the  system-building  sage, 
Who,  plodding  on  from  youth  to  age, 
At  last  on  some  foundation-dream 
Has  rear'cl  aloft  his  goodly  scheme. 
And  proved  his  predecessors  fools, 
And  bound  all  nature  by  his  rules  ; 
So  faxes  he  in  that  dreadful  hour, 
When  injured  Truth  exerts  her  power, 


I  THE  KATIES. 

Some  new  phenomenon  to  raise, 
Which,  bursting  on  his  frighted  gaze, 
From  its  proud  summit  to  the  ground 
Proves  the  whole  edifice  unsound. 

'  Children,'  thus  spoke  a  hare  sedate, 
Who  oft  had  known  th' extremes  of  fate, 
'  In  slight  events  the  docile  mind 
May  hints  of  good  instruction  find. 
Thatourcondition  is  the  worst, 
And  we  with  such  misfortunes  curst 
As  all  comparison  defy, 
Was  late  the  universal  cry  ; 
When  lo,  an  accident  so  slight 
As  yonder  little  linnet's  flight, 
Has  made  your  stubborn  heart  confess 
(So  your  amazement  bids  me  guess) 
That  all  our  load  of  woes  and  fears 
Is  but  a  part  of  what  he  bears. 
Where  can  he  rest  secure  from  harms, 
Whom  even  a  helpless  hare  alarms  1 
Yet  he  repines  not  at  his  lot, 
When  past,  the  danger  is  forgot : 
On  yonder  bough  he  trims  his  wings, 
And  with  unusual  rapture  sings  : 
While  we,  less  wretched,  sink  beneath 
Our  lighter  ills,  and  rush  to  death. 
No  more  of  this  unmeaning  rage, 
But  hear,  my  friends,  the  words  of  age. 

'  When  by  the  winds  of  autumn  driven 
The  scatter'd  clouds  fly  'cross  the  Heaven, 
Oft  have  we,  from  some  mountain's  head, 
Beheld  th'  alternate  light  and  shade 
Sweep  the  long  vale.     Here  hovering  lower* 
The  shadowy  cloud  ;  there  downwards  pours, 
Streaming  direct,  a  flood  of  day, 
Which  from  the  view  flies  swift  away  ; 


THIC   II\  RES.  223 

It  flies,  while  other  shades  advance, 
And  other  streaks  of  sunshine  glance. 
Thus  chequer'd  is  the  life  below 
With  gleams  of  joy  and  clouds  of  woe. 
Then  hope  not,  while  we  journey  on, 
Still  to  he  basking  in  the  sun: 
Nor  fear,  though  now  in  shades  ye  mourr 
That  sunshine  will  no  mure  return. 
If,  by  your  terrors  overcome, 
Ye  fly  before  th'  approaching  gloom, 
The  rapid  clouds  your  flight  pursue, 
And  darkness  still  o'ercasts  your  view. 
Who  longs  to  reach  the  radiant  plain 
Must  onward  urge  his  course  amain  ; 
For  doubly  swift  (he  shadow  flies, 
When  'gainst  the  gale  the  pilgrim  plies. 
At  least  be  firm,  and  undismay'd 
Maintain  your  ground  !  the  fleeting  shade 
Ere  long  spontaneous  glides  away, 
And  gives  you  back  th'  enlivening  ray. 
Lo,  while  I  speak,  our  danger  past ! 
No  more  the  shrill  horn's  angry  blast 
Howls  in  our  ear;  the  savage  roar 
Of  war  and  murder  is  no  more. 
Then  snatch  the  moment  fate  allows, 
Nor  think  of  past  or  future  woes.' 
He  spoke  ;  and  hope  revives  ;  the  lake 
That  instant  one  and  all  forsake, 
In  sweet  amusement  to  employ 
The  present  sprightly  hour  of  joy. 

Now  from  the  western  mountain's  brow, 
Compass'd  with  clouds  of  various  glow, 
The  Sun  a  broader  orb  displays, 
And  shoots  aslope  his  ruddy  rays. 
The  lawn  assumes  a  fresher  green, 
And  dew-drops  spangle  all  the  scene. 


224  ON  LOIU)  H*«'s  I5IRTH-DAY. 

The  balmy  zephyr  breathes  along, 
The  shepherd  sings  hi;  tender  song; 
With  all  their  lays  the  groves  resound, 
And  falling  waters  murmur  round, 
Discord  and  care  were  put  to  flight, 
And  all  was  peace,  and  calm  delight. 


EPITAPH: 

Being  Part  of  an  Inscription  for  a  Monument  to  be 
erected  by  a  Gentleman  to  the  Memory  »f  hit  Lady. 
FAREWELL,  my  best  beloved  !  whose  heavenly  mind 
Genius  with  virtue,  strength  with  softness  join'd  ; 
Devotion,  undebased  by  pride  or  art, 
With  meek  simplicity,  and  joy  of  heart ; 
Though  sprightly,  gentle  ;  though  polite,  sincere  j 
And  only  of  thyself  a  judge  severe  ; 
Unblamed,  unequall'd  in  each  sphere  of  life, 
The  tenderest  daughter,  sister,  parent,  wife. 
In  thee  their  patroness  th'  afflicted  lost; 
Thy  friends,  their  pattern,  ornament,  and  boast ; 
And  I — but  ah,  can  words  my  loss  declare, 
Or  paint  th'  extremes  of  transport  and  despair! 
O  thou,  beyond  what  verse  or  speech  can  tell, 
My  guide,  my  friend,  my  best-beloved,  farewell ! 


ODE  ON  LORD  H**'s  BIRTH-DAY. 

A  MUSE,  unskill'd  in  venal  praise, 
Unstain'd  with  flatt'ry's  art ; 
Who  loves  simplicity  of  lays 
Breathed  ardent  from  the  heart  ; 
While  gratitude  and  joy  inspire, 
Resumes  the  long-unpractised  lyre. 


ON  LORI)  H*»'s  BIRTH-DAY. 

To  hail,  O,  H**,  thy  natal  morn : 
No  gaudy  wreath  of  flowers  she  weaves, 
But  twines  with  oak  the  laurel  leaves, 
Thy  cradle  to  adorn. 

For  not  on  beds  of  gaudy  flowers 

Thine  ancestors  reclined, 

Where  sloth  dissolves,  and  spleen  devours 

All  energy  of  mind. 

To  hurl  the  dart,  to  ride  the  car, 

To  stem  the  deluges  of  war, 

And  snatch  from  fate  a  sinking  land ; 

Trample  th'  invader's  lofty  crest, 

And  from  his  grasp  the  dagger  wrest, 

And  desolating  brand  : 

Twas  this  that  raised  th'  illustrious  lino 

To  match  the  first  in  fame  ! 

A  thousand  years  have  seen  it  shine 

With  unabated  flame : 

Have  seen  thy  mighty  sires  appear 

Foremost  in  glory's  high  career, 

The  pride  and  pattern  of  the  brave. 

Yet,  pure  from  lust  of  blood  their  fire, 

And  from  ambition's  wild  desire, 

They  triumph'd  but  to  save. 

The  Muse  with  joy  attends  their  way 
The  vale  of  peace  along : 
There  to  its  lord  the  village  gay 
Renews  the  grateful  song. 
Yon  castle's  glittering  towers  contain 
No  pit  of  woe,  nor  clanking  chain, 
Nor  to  the  suppliant's  wail  resound  ; 
The  open  doors  the  needy  bless, 
Th'  unfriended  hail  their  calm  recess, 
And  gladness  smiles  around. 
L2 


226  ON  LORD  H"'s  IURTH-DAY. 

There  to  the  sympathetic  heart 
Life's  best  delights  belong, 
To  mitigate  the  mouruer's  smart, 
To  guard  the  weak  from  wrong. 
Ye  sons  of  luxury,  be  wise  : 
Know,  happiness  forever  flies 
The  cold  and  solitary  breast ; 
Then  lei  the  social  instinct  glow, 
And  learn  to  feel  another's  woe, 
And  in  his  joy  be  blest. 

O  yet,  ere  Pleasure  plant  her  snare 

For  unsuspecting  youth ; 

Ere  Flattery  her  song  prepare 

To  check  the  voice  of  Truth  ; 

O  may  his  country's  guardian,  power 

Attend  the  slumbering  infant's  bower, 

And  bright,  inspiring  dreams  impart. 

To  rouse  th'  hereditary  fire, 

To  kindle  each  sublime  desire, 

Exalt,  and  warm  the  heart. 

Swift  to  reward  a  parent's  fears, 
A  parent's  hopes  to  crown, 
Roll  on  in  peace,  ye  blooming  years, 
That  rear  him  to  renown  j 
When  in  his  finish'd  form  and  face 
Admiring  multitudes  shall  trace 
Each  patrimonial  charm  combined, 
The  couiteous  yet  majestic  mien, 
The  liberal  smile,  the  look  serene, 
The  great  and  gentle  mind. 

Yet,  though  thou  draw  a  nation's  eyes,, 
And  win  a  nation's  love, 
Let  not  thy  towering  mind  despise 
The  village  and  the  grove. 


TO  LADY  G;HU>OV.  227 

No  slander  there  shall  wound  tliy  fame, 
No  ruffian  take  his  deadly  aim, 
No  rival  weave  the  secret  snare  : 
For  Innocence  with  angel  smile, 
Simplicity  that  knows  no  guile, 
And  Love  and  Peace  are  there. 

When  winds  the  mountain  oak  assail, 
And  lay  its  glories  waste, 
Content  may  slumber  in  the  vale, 
Unconscious  of  the  blast. 
Through  scenes  of  tumult  while  we  roam, 
The  heart,  alas  !  is  ne'er  at  home, 
It  hopes  in  time  to  roam  no  more  ; 
The  mariner,  not  vainly  brave, 
Combats  the  storm,  and  rides  the  wave, 
To  rest  at  last  on  shore. 

Ye  proud,  ye  selfish,  ye  severe, 
How  vain  your  mask  of  state  ! 
The  good  alone  have  joy  sincere, 
The  good  alone  are  great : 
Great,  when,  amid  the  vale  of  peace, 
They  bid  the  plaint  of  sorrow  cease, 
And  hear  the  voice  of  artless  praise  ; 
As  when  along  the  trophy'd  plain 
Sublime  they  lead  the  victor  train, 
While  shouting  nations  gaze 


TO  THE  RIGHT  HON. 

LADY  CHARLOTTE  GORDON, 
Dressed  in  a  Tartan  Scotch  Bonnet,  with  Plumei, 

WHY,  lady,  wilt  thou  bind  thy  lovely  brow 
With  the  dread  semblance  of  that  warlike  helm, 
That  nodding  plume,  and  wreath  of  various  glow, 
That  graced  the  chiefs  of  Scotia's  ancient  realm  ? 


228  THE  HERMIT. 

Thou  kliowest  that  Virtue  is  of  power  the  source, 
And  all  her  magic  to  thy  eyes  is  given  ; 
We  own  their  empire,  while  we  feel  their  force, 
Beaming  with  the  benignity  of  heaven. 
The  plumy  helmet,  and  the  martial  mien, 
Might  dignify  Minerva's  awful  charms  ; 
But  more  resistless  far  th'  Idalian  queen — 
Smiles,  graces,  gentleness,  her  only  arms. 


THE    HERMIT. 

AT  the  close  of  the  day,  wh<>ii  the  hamlet  is  still, 
And  mortals  the  sweets  of  forgetfuluess  prove, 
When  nought  but  the  torrent  is  heard  on  the  hill, 
And  nought  but  the  nightingale's  song  in  the  grove  : 
'Twas  thus,  by  the  cave  of  the  mountain  afar, 
While  his  harp  rung  symphonious,  a  hermit  began : 
No  more  with  himself  or  with  nature  at  war, 
He  thought  as  a  sage,  though  he  felt  as  a  man. 

'  Ah!  why,  all  abandon'd  to  darkness  and  woe, 
Why,  lone  Philomela,  that  languishing  fall? 
For  spring  shall  return,  and  a  lover  bestow, 
And  sorrow  no  longer  thy  bosom  inthral : 
But,  if  pity  inspire  thee,  renew  the  sad  lay, 
Mourn,  sweetest  complainer,  man  calls  thee  to  mourn; 
O  soothe  him,  whose  pleasures  like  thine  pass  away  : 
Full  quickly  they  pass — but  they  never  return. 

'  Now  gliding  remote,  on  the  verge  of  the  sky, 
The  Moon,  half  extinguish'd,  her  crescent  displays  : 
But  lately  I  mark'd,  when  majestic  on  high 
She  shone,  and  the  planets  were  lost  in  her  blaze. 
Roll  on,  thou  fair  orb,  and  with  gladness  pursue 
The  path  that  conducts  thee  to  splendour  again. 
But  man's  faded  glory  what  change  shall  renew  ? 
Ah  fool !  to  exult  in  a  glory  so  vain  ! 


THE   HERMIT.  229 

•Tis  night,  and  the  landscape  is  lovely  no  more; 
I  mourn,  but,  ye  woodlands,  I  mourn  not  for  yon  j 
For  morn  is  approaching,  your  charms  to  restore, 
Perfumed  with  fresh  fragrance, and  glittering  with  dew: 
Nor  yet  for  the  ravage  of  winter  I  mourn  ; 
Rind  Nature  the  embryo  blossom  will  save. 
But  when  shall  spring  visit  the  mouldering  urn'. 
O  when  shall  it  dawn  on  the  night  of  the  grave ! 

•  Twas  thus,  by  the  glare  of  false  science  betray'd. 
That  leads,  to  bewilder  ;  and  dazzles,  to  blind; 
My  thoughts  wont  to  roam,  from  shade  onward  to 

shade, 

Destruction  before  me,  and  sorrow  behind. 
O  pity,  great  Father  of  Light,'  then  I  cried, 

•  Thy  creature,  who  fain  would  not  wander  from  thee; 
Lo,  humbled  in  dust,  I  relinquish  my  pride  : 

From  doubt  and  from  darkness  thou  only  canst  free  f 

— '  And  darkness  and  doubt  are  now  flying  away, 

No  longer  I  roam  in  conjecture  forlorn. 

So  breaks  on  the  traveller,  faint,  and  astray, 

The  bright  and  the  balmy  effulgence  of  morn. 

See  Truth,  L«ve,  and  Mercy,  in -triumph  descending, 

And  nature  all  glowing  in  Eden's  first  bloom  ! 

On  the  cold  cheek  of  Death  smiles  and  roses  are 

blending, 
And  Beauty  immortal  awakes  from  the  »omb.' 


230 


OH  THE  REPORT  OF  A  MONUMENT  TO  BE  ERECTED 
IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY,  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 
A  LATE  AUTHOR,  (CHURCHILL.) 

(Written  in  1165.) 
[Part  of  a  letter  to  a  person  of  quality.] 

LEST  your  lordship,  who  are  so  well  acquainted 

with  every  thing  that  relates  to  true  honour,  should 
think  hardly  of  me  for  attacking  the  memory  of  the 
dead,  I  beg  leave  to  offer  a  few  words  in  my  own  vindi 
cation. 

If  I  had  composed  the  following  verses  with  a  view 
to  gratify  private  resentment,  to  promote  the  interest  of 
any  faction,  or  to  recommend  myself  to  the  patronage 
of  any  person  whatsoever,  I  should  have  been  altoge- 
ther inexcusable.  To  attack  the  memory  of  the  dead 
from  selfish  considerations,  or  from  mere  wantonness  or 
malice,  is  an  enormity  which  none  can  hold  in  greater 
detestation  than  I.  But  I  composed  them  from  very 
different  motives;  as  every  intelligent  reader,  who  pe- 
ruses them  with  attention,  and  who  is  willing  to  believe 
me  upon  my  own  testimony,  will  undoubtedly  perceive. 
My  motives  proceeded  from  a  sincere  desire  to  do  some 
small  service  to  my  country,  and  to  the  cau^e  of  truth 
and  virtue.  The  promoters  of  faction  I  ever  did,  and 
ever  will  consider  as  the  enemies  of  mankind  :  lo  the 
memory  of  such  I  owe  no  veneration  :  to  the  writings 
of  such  I  owe  no  indulgence. 

Your  lordship  knows  that  (Churchill)  owed  the  great- 
est share  of  his  renown  to  the  most  incompetent  of  all 
judges,  the  mob  :  actuated  by  the  most  unworthy  of 
all  principles,  a  spirit  of  insolence,  mil  inflamed  by  the 
vilest  of  all  human  passions,  hatred  to  their  fellow* 
citizens.  Those  who  joined  the  cry  in  his  favoui 


ON  CHURCHILL.  231 

seemed  to  rue  to  be  swayed  rather  by  fashion  than  by 
•eal  sentiment i  he  therefore  might  have  lived  and 
died  unmolested  by  me,  confident  as  I  air.,  that  pos- 
terity, when  the  present  unhappy  dissensions  are  for- 
gotten, will  do  ample  justice  to  his  real  character.  But 
when  I  saw  the  extravagant  honours  that  were  paid  to 
his  memory,  and  heard  that  a  monument  in  Westminster 
Abbey  was  intended  for  one  whom  even  his  admirers 
acknowledge  to  have  been  an  incendiary,  and  a  de- 
bauchee, I  could  not  help  wishing  that  my  country  men 
would  reBect  a  little  on  what  they  were  doing,  before 
they  consecrated,  by  what  posterity  would  think  the 
public  voice,  a  character,  which  no  friend  to  virtue  or 
true  taste  can  approve.  It  was  this  sentiment,  enforced 
by  the  earnest  request  of  a  friend,  which  produced  the 
following  little  poem  ;  in  which  I  have  said  nothing  of 
(Churchill's)  manners  that  is  not  warranted  by  the  best 
authority  ;  nor  of  his  writings,  that  is  not  perfectly 
agreeable  to  t  e  opinion  of  many  of  the  most  competent 
judges  in  Britain. 

(Abrrdten,)  January,  1764. 


BOFO,  begone!  with  thee  may  faction's  fire, 
That  hatch'd  thy  salamander-fame,  expire. 
Fame,  dirty  idol  of  the  brainless  crowd, 
What  half-made  moon-calf  can  mistake  for  good  ! 
Since  shared  by  knaves  of  high  and  low  degree — 
Cromwell  and  Catiline  ;  Ciuido  F;mx,  and  thee. 

By  nature  uninspired,  untaught  by  art, 
With  not  one  thought  that  breathes  the  feeling  heart, 
With  not  one  offering  vow'd  to  Virtue's  shrine, 
With  not  one  pure  unprostituted  line ; 
Alike  debauch'd  in  body,  soul,  and  lays; — 
F  or  pensioa'd  censure,  and  for  pension'd  praise, 


232  ON  CHURCHILL. 

For  ribaldry,  for  libels,  leudness,  lies, 

For  blasphemy  of  all  tlie  good  and  wise  : 

Coarse  violence  in  coarser  doggrel  writ, 

Which  bawling  blackguards  spell'd,  and  took  for  wit: 

For  conscience,  honour,  slighted,  spurn'd,  o'erthrown  : 

Lo,  Bufo  shines  the  minion  of  renown. 

Is  this  the  land  that  boasts  a  Milton's  fire, 
And  magic  Spenser's  wildly  warbling  lyre ! 
The  land  that  owns  th'  omnipotence  of  song, 
When  Shakspeare  whirls  the  throbbing  heart  along? 
The  land,  where  Pope,  with  energy  divine, 
In  one  strong  blaze  bade  wit  and  fancy  shine: 
Whose  verse,  by  truth  in  virtue's  triumph  borne, 
Gave  knaves  to  infamy,  and  fools  to  scorn; 
Yet  pure  in  manners,  and  in  thought  refined, 
Whose  life  and  lays  adorn'd  and  bless'd  mankind  ? 
Is  this  the  land,  where  Gray's  unlabonr'd  art 
Soothes,  melts,  alarms,  and  ravishes  the  heart : 
While  the  lone  wanderer's  sweet  complainings  flow 
In  simple  majesty  of  manly  woe  : 

Or  while,  sublime,  on  eagle-pinion  driven,     [Heaven? 
He  soars  Pindaric  heights,  and  sails  the  waste  of 
Is  this  the  land,  o'er  Sherfstoue's  recent  urn 
Where  all  the  Loves  and  gentler  Graces  mourn  ? 
And  where,  to  crown  the  hoary  bard  of  night* 
The  Muses  and  the  Virtues  all  unite? 
Is  this  the  land,  where  Akenside  displays 
The  bold  yet  temperate  flame  of  ancient  days  ? 
Like  the  rapt  sage.t  in  genius  as  in  theme, 
Whose  hallow'd  strain  rcnown'd  llyssus'  stream  : 
Or  him,  the  indignant  bard.J  whose  patriot  ire, 
Sublime  in  vengeance,  smote  the  dreadful  lyre  : 
For  truth,  for  liberty,  for  virtue  warm, 
Whose  mighty  song  unnerved  a  tyrant's  arm, 

•  Dr.  Young-.  f  Plato. 

I  Alceiw.    See  Akeuside'§  Ode  on  Ljrric  Poetry. 


ON  CHURCHILL.  233 

Flush'd  the  rude  roar  of  discord,  rage,  and  lust, 
And  spurn'd  licentious  demagogues  to  dust. 

Is  this  the  queen  of  realms  !  the  glorious  isle, 
Britannia,  blest  in  Heaven's  indulgent  smile  ! 
Guardian  of  tru'h,  and  patroness  of  art, 
Nurse  of  th' undaunted  soul,  and  generous  heart 
Where,  from  abase  nnthankful  world  exiled, 
Freedom  exults  to  roam  the  careless  wild  : 
Where  taste  to  science  every  charm  supplies, 
And  genius  soars  unbounded  to  the  skies  ! 

And  shall  a  Bufo's  most  polluted  name 
Stein  her  bright  tablet  of  untainted  fame  ? 
Shall  his  disgraceful  name  with  theirs  be  join'd. 
Who  wish'd  and  wrought  the  welfare  of  their  kind? 
His  name  accurst,  who  leagued  witk  ••*•••  and  Hell, 
Labour'd  to  rouse,  with  rude  and  murderous  yell, 
Discord  the  fiend,  to  toss  rebellion's  brand, 
To  whelm  in  rage  and  woe  a  guiltless  laud  : 
To  frustrate  wisdom's,  virtue's  noblest  plan, 
And  triumph  in  the  miseries  of  man. 

Drivelling  a-nd  dull,  when  crawls  the  reptile  Muse, 
Swoln  from  the  sty,  and  rankling  from  the  stews, 
With  envy,  spleen,  and  pestilence  replete, 
And  gorged  with  dust  she  lick'd  from  Treason's  feet : 
Who  once,  like  Satan,  raised  to  Heaven  her  sight, 
But  turn'd  abhorrent  from  the  hated  light : — 
O'er  such  a  Muse  shall  wreaths  of  glory  bloom? 
No — shame  and  execration  be  her  doom. 

Hard-fated  Bufo  !  could  not  dulness  save 
Thy  soul  from  sin,  from  infamy  thy  grave? 
Blackmore  and  Quarles,  those  blockheads  of  renown, 
Lavish'd  their  ink,  but  never  harm'd  the  town. 
Though  this,  thy  brother  iu  discordant  song, 
Harass'd  the  ear,  and  cramp'd  the  labouring  tongue: 
And  that,  like  thee,  taught  staggering  prose  to  stand, 
And  limp  on  stilts  of  rhyme  around  the  land. 


234  ON  CHURCHILL. 

Harmless  they  dozed  a  scribbling  life  away. 
And  yawning  nations  own'd  th'  innoxious  lay- 
But  from  thy  graceless,  rude,  and  beastly  braiu 
What  fury  breathed  th'  incendiary  strain? 

Did  hate  to  vice  exasperate  thy  style? 
No — Bufo  match'd  the  vilest  of  the  vile. 
Yet  blazon'd  was  his  verse  with  Virtue's  name — 
Thus  prudes  look  down  to  hide  their  want  of  shame  : 
Thus  hypocrites  to  truth,  and  fools  to  sense, 
And  fops  to  taste,  have  sometimes  made  pretence: 
Thus  thieves  and  gamesters  swear  by  honour's  laws  : 
Thus  pension-hunters  bawl  '  their  country's  cause  ;' 
Thus  furious  Teague  for  moderation  raved, 
And  own'd  his  soul  to  liberty  enslaved. 

Nor  yet,  though  thousand  cits  admire  thy  rage, 
Though  less  of  fool  than  felon  marks  thy  page : 
Nor  yet,  though  here  and  there  one  lonely  spark 
Of  wit  half  brightens  through  th'  involving  dark, 
To  shew  the  gloom  more  hideous  for  the  foil, 
But  not  repay  the  drudging  reader's  toil  j 
(  For  who  for  one  poor  pearl  of  clouded  ray 
Through  Alpine  dunghills  delves  his  desperate  way?) 
Did  genius  to  thy  verse  such  bane  impart  ? 
No.  'Twas  the  demon  of  thy  venom 'd  heart 
(Thy  heart  with  rancour's  quintessence  endued), 
And  the  blind  zeal  of  a  misjudging  crowd. 

Thus  from  rank  soil  a  poison'd  mushroom  sprung, 
Nursling  obscene  of  mildew  and  of  dung: 
By  Heaven  desiixi'd  on  its  own  native  spot 
Harmless  t'  enlarge  its  bloated  bulk,  and  rot. 
But  Gluttony  th'  abortive  nuisance  saw  ; 
It  roused  his  ravenous  undiscerning  maw  : 
Gulp'd  down  the  tasteless  throat,  the  mess  abhorred 
Shot  fiery  influence  round  the  maddening  board. 

O  had  thy  verse  been  impotent  as  dull, 
Nor  spoke  the  rancorous  heart,  but  lumpish  skull  ; 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  PARIS.  2-J 

Had  mobs  distinguish'd,  they  who  howl'd  thy  fame. 
The  icicle  from  the  pure  diamond's  flame, 
From  fancy's  soul  thy  gross  imbruted  sense, 
From  dauntless  truth  thy  shameless  insolence, 
From  elegance  confusion's  monstrous  mass, 
And  from  the  lion's  spoils  the  sculking  ass, 
From  rapture's  strain  the  drawling  doggrel  line, 
From  warbling  seraphim  the  grunting  swine; 
With  gluttons,  dunces,  rakes,  thy  name  had  slept, 
Vor  o'er  her  sullied  fame  Britannia  wept ; 
Nor  had  the  Muse,  with  honest  zeal  possess'd, 
T*  avenge  her  country,  by  thy  name  disgraced, 
Raised  this  bold  strain  for  virtue,  truth,  mankind. 
And  thy  fell  shade  to  infamy  rcsign'd. 

When  frailty  leads  astray  the  soul  sincere, 
Let  mercy  shed  the  soft  and  manly  tear. 
When  to  the  grave  descends  the  sensual  sot, 
Unnamed,  unnoticed,  let  his  carrion  lot. 
When  paltry  rogues,  by  stealth,  deceit,  or  force, 
Hazard  their  necks,  ambitious  of  your  purse  : 
For  such  the  hangman  wreaths  his  trusty  gin, 
And  let  the  gallows  expiate  their  sin. 
But  when  a  ruffian,  whose  portentous  crimes 
Like  plagues  and  earthquakes  terrify  the  times, 
Triumphs  through  life,  from  legal  judgment  free, 
For  Hell  may  hatch  what  law  could  ne'er  foresee ; 
Sacred  from  vengeance  shall  his  memory  rest? — 
Judas  though  dead,  though  damn'd,  we  still  detest. 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  PARIS. 

(Pnblithed  in  I76SO 

FAR  in  the  depth  of  Ida's  inmost  grove, 
A.  scene  for  love  and  solitude  design'd  ; 
Wliere  flowery  woodbines  wild  by  Nature  wove 
Form'd  the  lone  bower,  the  royal  swain  reclined. 
.  R 


236  THE  JUDGMENT 

All  up  the  craggy  cliffs,  that  tower'd  to  Heaven, 
Green  waved  the  murmuring  pines  on  every  side, 

Save  where,  fair  opening  to  the  beam  of  even, 
A  dale  sloped  gradual  to  the  valley  wide. 

Echo'd  the  vale  with  many  a  cheerful  note; 

The  lowing  of  the  herds  resounded  long, 
The  shrilling  pipe,  and  mellow  horn  remote 

And  social  clamours  of  the  festive  throng. 

For  now,  low  hovering  o'er  the  western  main, 
Where  amber  clouds  begirt  his  dazzling  throne. 

The  Suii  with  ruddier  verdure  deckt  the  plain; 

And  lakes  and  streams,  and  spires  triumphal  shone. 

And  many  a  band  of  ardent  youths  were  seen; 

Some  into  rapture  fired  by  glory's  charms, 
Or  hurl'd  the  thundering  car  along  the  green, 

Or  march 'd  embattled  on  in  glittering  arms. 

Others  more  mild,  in  happy  leisure  gay, 

The  darkening  forest's  lonely  gloom  explore, 

Or  by  Scamander's  flowery  margin  stray, 
Or  the  blue  Hellespont's  resounding  shore. 

But  chief  the  eye  to  Ilion's  glories  turn'd, 

That  gleam'd  along  th'  extended  champaign  far, 

And  bulwarks  in  terrific  pomp  adorn'd, 

Where  Peace  sat  smiling  at  the  frowns  of  War. 

Rich  iii  the  spoils  of  many  a  subject-clime, 
In  pride  luxurious  blaz'd  th'  imperial  dome  ; 

Tower'd  'mid  th'  encircling  grove  the  fane  sublime  ; 
And  dread  memorials  niark'd  the  hero's  tomb. 

Who  from  the  black  and  bloody  cavern  led 

The  savage  stern,  and  sooth 'd  his  boisterous  breast; 

Who  spoke,  and  Science  rear'd  her  radiant  head, 
And  brighten'd  o'er  the  long  benighted  waste; 


OF  PARIS.  23? 

Or,  greatly  daring  m  his  country's  cause, 

Whose  heaven-taught  soul  the  awful  plan  dosign'd, 

Whence  Power  stood  trembling  at  the  voice  of  Laws  ; 
Whence  soar'd  on  Freedom's  wing  th'  ethereal  mind 

But  not  the  pomp  that  royalty  displays, 
Nor  all  the  imperial  pride  of  lofty  Troy, 

Nor  Virtue's  triumph  of  immortal  praise 

Could  rouse  the  languor  of  the  lingering  boy. 

Abandon'd  all  to  soft  Enone's  charms, 
He  10  oblivion  doom'd  the  listless  day  ; 

Inglorious  lulPd  in  Love's  dissolving  arms, 

While  flutes  lascivious  breathed  th'  enfeebling  lay. 

To  trim  the  ringlets  of  his  scented  hair; 

To  aim,  insidious,  Love's  bewitching  glance ; 
Or  cull  fresh  garlands  for  the  gaudy  fair, 

Or  wanton  loose  in  the  voluptuous  dance: 

These  were  his  arts  •,  these  won  Enone's  love, 
Nor  sought  his  fettered  soul  a  nobler  aim. 

Ah  why  should  Beauty's  smile  those  arts  approve, 
Which  taint  with  infamy  the  lover's  flame  ! 

Now  laid  e.t  large  beside  a  murmuring  spring, 

Melting  he  listcn'd  to  the  vernal  song, 
And  Echo,  listening,  waved  her  airy  wing, 

While  the  deep  winding  dales  the  lays  prolong. 

When  slowly  floating  down  the  azure  skies 
A  crimson  cloud  flash 'd  on  his  startled  sight; 

Whose  skirts  gay  sparkling  with  unnumber'd  dies 
Launched  the  long  billowy  trails  of  flickery  light. 

That  instant  hush'd  was  all  the  vocal  grove, 
Hush'd  was  the  gale,  and  every  ruder  sound, 

And  strains  aerial,  warbling  far  above, 
Rung  in  the  ear  a  magic  penl  profound. 


238  THE  JUDGMENT 

Near,  and  more  near,  the  swimming  radiance  roll'd  j 
Along  the  mountains  stream  the  lingering  fires, 

Sublime  the  groves  of  Ida  blaze  with  gold, 

And  all  the  Heaven  resounds  with  louder  lyre». 

The  trumpet  breathed  a  note  :  and  all  in  air, 
The  glories  vauish'd  from  the  dazzled  eye; 

And  three  ethereal  forms,  divinely  fair, 

Down  the  steep  glade  wero  seen  advancing  nigh. 

The  flowering  glade  fell  level  where  they  moved  ; 

O'er  arching  high  the  clustering  roses  hung, 
And  gales  from  Heaven  on  balmy  pinion  roved, 

And  hill  and  dale  with  gratulation  rung. 

Tliejimt  with  slow  and  stately  step  drew  near, 
Fix'd  was  her  lofty  eye,  erect  her  mien  : 

Sublime  in  grace,  in  majesty  severe, 

She  look'd  and  moved  a  goddess  and  a  queen. 

Her  robe  along  the  gale  profusely  stream'd, 
Light  lean'd  the  sceptre  on  her  bending  arm; 

And  round  her  brow  a  starry  circlet  gleam'd, 

Heightening  the  pride  of  each  commanding  charm. 

Milder  the  next  came  on  with  artless  grace, 
And  on  a  javelin's  quivering  length  reclined  : 

1"  exalt  her  mien  she  bade  no  splendour  blaze, 
Nor  pomp  of  vesture  fluctuate  on  the  wind. 

Serene,  though  awful,  on  her  brow  the  light 
Of  heavenly  wisdom  shone  :  nor  roved  her  eyes, 

Save  to  the  shadowy  cliff's  mnjestic  height, 
Or  the  blue  concave  of  th'  involving  skies. 

Keen  were  her  eyes  to  search  the  inmost  soul  : 
Yet  Virtue  triumph'd  in  their  beams  benign, 

And  impious  Pride  oft  felt  their  dread  control,. 
When  in  fierce  lightning  flash'd  the  wrath  divine.* 

«  Thii  U  agreeable  to  the  theology  of  Homer,  who  often  reprewntt 
fatlai)  a«  tin1  executioner  of  diunc  vrngeance. 


OF  PARIS.  '23;; 

With  awe  and  wonder  gazed  th'  adoring  s\vain  j 

His  kindling  cheeks  great  Virtue's  power  confess'd/ 

But  soon,  'twas  o'er,  for  Virtue  prompts  in  vain, 
When  Pleasure's  influence  numbs  the  nerveless  breast. 

And  now  advanced  the  queen  of  melting  joy, 
Smiling  supreme  iu  unresisted  charms  : 

Ah,  then,  what  transports  fired  the  trembling  boy  ! 
How  throbb'd  his  sickening  frame  with  fierce  alarms! 

Her  eyes  in  liquid  light  luxurious  swim, 

And  languish  with  unutterable  love.  [limb, 

Heaven's  warm  bloom  glows  along  each  bright'ning 

Where  fluttering  bland  the  veil's  thin  mantlings  rove. 

Quick,  blushing  as  abash'd,  she  half  withdrew  : 
One  hand  a  bough  of  flowering  myrtle  waved, 

One  graceful  spread,  where,  scarce  conceal M  from  view, 
Soft  through  the  parting  robe  her  bosom  heaved, 

'  Offspring  of  Jove  supreme  !  beloved  of  Heav'n! 
Attend.'  Thus  spoke  the  empress  of  the  skies. 

•  For  know,  to  thce,  high-fated  prince,  'tis  given 

Through  the  bright  realms  of  Fame  sublime  to  rise, 

'  Beyond  man's  boldest  hope  ;  if  nor  the  wiles 
Of  Pallas  triumph  o'er  th'  ennobling  thought ; 

Nor  Pleasure  lure  with  artificial  smiles 
To  quaff  tha  poison  of  her  luscious  draught. 

*  When  Juno's  charms  the  prize  of  beauty  claim. 

Shall  aught  on  Earth,  shall  aught  in  Heav'n  contend? 
Whom  Juno  calls  to  high  triumphant  fame, 
Shall  he  to  meaner  sway  inglorious  bend  ? 

'  Y<>t  lingeiing  comfortless  in  lonesome  wild, 

Where  Echo  sloops  'iiiid  cavern M  vales  profound, 

The  pride  of  Troy,  Dominion'!  darling  child. 

Piucs  while  the  slow  hour  stalks  its  -ullcn  round. 


2-JO  THE  jrn 

'  Uoar  thou,  of  Heav'n  unconscious!  From  the  bla/e 
(If  glory,  strcam'd  from  Jove's  eternal  throne, 

I'hy  soul,  0  mortal,  caught  th'  inspiring  rays 
That  to  a  god  exalt  Earth's  raptured  son. 

*  Hence  the  bold  wish,  on  boundless  pinion  borne, 

That  fires,  alarms,  impels  the  maddening  soul  j 
The  hero's  eye,  hence,  kindling  into  scorn, 
Blasts  the  proud  menace,  and  defies  control. 

'  But,  unimproved,  Heav'n's  noblest  boons  are  vain, 
No  sun  with  plenty  crowns  th'  uncultured  vale  : 

Where  green  lakes  languish  on  the  silent  plain, 
Death  rides  the  billows  of  the  western  gale. 

*  Deep  in  yon  mountain's  womb,  where  the  dark  cave 

Howls  to  the  torrent's  everlasting  roar, 
Does  the  rich  gem  its  flashy  radiance  wave? 
Or  flames  with  steady  ray  th'  imperial  ore? 

'  Toil  deck'd  with  glittering  domesyon  champaign  wide, 
And  wakes  yon  grove-embosom'd  iawns  to  joy, 

And  rends  the  rough  ore  from  the  mountain's  side, 
Spangling  with  starry  pomp  the  thrones  of  Troy. 

'  1'ly  these  soft  scenes.     Even  now  with  playful  art, 
Love  wreathes  the  flowery  ways  with  fatal  snare. 

And  nurse  th' ethereal  fire  that  warms  thy  heart, 
That  fire  ethereal  lives  but  by  thy  care. 

'  Lo,  hovering  near  on  dark  and  dampy  wing, 
Slolh  with  stern  patience  waits  the  hour  assigned, 

From  her  chill  plume  the  deadly  dews  to  fling, 

That  quench  Heav'n's  beam,  and  freeze  the  cheer 
less  mind. 

'  Vain,  then,  th'  enlivening  sound  of  Fame's  alarms, 
For  Hope's  exulting  hnpulse  prompts  no  more  : 

Vain  even  the  joys  that  lure  to  Pleasure's  arms, 
The  throb  of  transport  is  for  ever  o'er 


OF   PARIS.  24! 

'  O  «rlio  shall  then  to  Fancy's  darkening  eyes 
Recal  th'  Elysian  dreams  of  joy  and  light! 

Dim  through  the  gloom  the  formless  visions  rise, 
Snatch'd  instantaneous  down  the  gulf  of  night. 

'  Thou,  who  securely  luli'd  in  youth's  warm  ray 
Mark'sl  not  the  desolations  wrought  by  Time, 

Be  roused  or  perish.     Ardent  for  its  prey 
Speeds  the  fell  hour  that  ravages  thy  prime. 

'  And,  'midst  the  horrors  shrined  of  midnight  storm, 
The  fiend  Oblivion  eyes  thee  from  afar, 

Black  with  intolerable  frowns  her  form, 

Beckoning  th'  embattled  whirlwinds  into  war. 

'  Fanes,  bulwarks,  mountains,  worlds,  their  tempest 
whelms  : 

Yet  glory  braves  unmoved  th'  impetuous  sweep. 
Fly  then,  ere,  hurl'd  from  life's  delightful  realms, 

Thou  sink  t'  Oblivion's  dark  and  boundless  deep. 

'  Fly,  then,  where  Glory  points  the  path  sublime, 
See  her  crown  dazzling  with  eternal  light! 

'Tis  Juno  prompts  thy  daring  steps  to  climb, 

And  girds  thy  bounding  heart  with  matchless  might 

'  Warm  in  the  raptures  of  divine  desire, 

Burst  the  soft  chain  that  curbs  th'  aspiring  mind  : 

And  fly,  where  Victory,  borne  on  wings  of  fire, 
Waves  her  red  banner  to  the  rattling  wind. 

'  Ascend  the  car.  Indulge  the  pride  of  arms, 

Where  clarions  roll  their  kindling  strains  on  high 

Where  the  eye  maddens  to  the  dread  alarms, 
And  the  long  shout  tumultuous  rends  the  sky. 

•  Plunged  in  the  uproar  of  the  thundering  field 

1  see  thy  lofty  arm  the  tempest  guide  : 
Fate  scatters  lightning  from  thy  meteor  shield, 

And  Ruin  spreads  around  the  sanguine  tide 
M 


342  THE  JL'DGMKNT 

*  Go,  urge  the  terrors  of  thy  headlong  car 

On  prostrate  Pride,  and  Grandeur's  spoils  o'erthrown. 
While  all  amazed  even  heroes  shrink  afar, 
And  hosts  embattled  vanish  at  thy  frown. 

•  When  glory  crowns  thy  godlike  toils,  and  all 

The  triumph's  lengthening  pomp  exalts  thy  soul, 
When  lowly  at  thy  feet  the  mighty  fall, 
And  tyrants  tremble  at  thy  stern  control ; 

"  When  conquering  millions  hail  thy  sovereign  might, 
And  tribes  unknown  dread  acclamation  join  ; 

How  wilt  thou  spurn  the  forms  of  low  delight! 
For  all  the  ecstasies  of  Heav'n  are  thine : 

'  For  thine  the  joys,  that  fear  no  length  of  days, 
Whose  wide  effulgence  scorns  all  mortal  bound  : 

Fame's  trump  in  thunder  shall  announce  thy  praise. 
Nor  bursting  worlds  her  clarion's  blast  confound.' 

The  goddess  ceased,  not  dubious  of  the  prize  : 
Elate  she  mark'd  his  wild  and  rolling  eye, 

Mark'd  his  lip  quiver,  and  his  bosom  rise, 

And  his  warm  cheek  suffused  with  crimson  die. 

But  Pallas  now  drew  near.     Sublime,  serene. 
In  conscious  dignity,  she  view'd  the  swain: 

Then,  love  and  pity  softening  all  her  mien, 

Thus  breathed  with  accents  mild  '.he  solemn  strain. 

•  Lot  those,  whose  arts  to  fatal  paths  betray, 

The  soul  with  passion's  gloom  tempestuous  blind, 

And  snatch  from  Reason's  ken  th'  auspicious  ray 
Truth  dartsfrom  Heaven  to  guide  th' exploring  mind. 

'  But  Wisdom  loves  the  calm  and  serious  hour, 
When  Heaven's  pure  emanation  beams  confess'd: 

Rage,  ecstasy,  alike  disclaim  her  power, 

She  wooes  each  gentler  impulse  of  the  breast. 


OF  PARIS.  243 

«  Sincere  th'  unalter'd  bliss  her  charms  impart, 
Sedate  th'  enlivening  ardours  they  inspire: 

She  bids  no  transient  rapture  thrill  the  heart, 
She  wakes  no  feverish  gust  of  fierce  desire. 

'  Unwise,  who,  tossing  on  the  watery  way, 
All  to  the  storm  th'  unfetter'd  sail  devolve : 

Man  more  unwise  resigns  the  mental  sway, 
Borne  headlong  on  by  passion's  keen  resolve. 

'  While  storms  remote  but  murmur  on  thine  ear, 
Nor  waves  in  ruinous  uproar  round  thee  roll, 

Yet,  yet  a  moment  check  thy  prone  career, 

And  curb  the  keen  resolve  that  prompts  thy  soul. 

'  Explore  thy  h»art,  that,  roused  by  glory's  name, 
Pants  all  enraptured  with  the  mighty  charm — 

And,  does  Ambition  quench  each  milder  flame? 
A  ni\  is  it  Conquest  that  alone  can  warm  ? 

•  To  indulge  fell  Rapine's  desolating  lust, 

To  drench  the  balmy  lawn  in  streaming  gore, 

To  siura  the  hero's  cold  and  silent  dust — 

Are  these  thy  joys?  Nor  throbs  thy  heart  for  more? 

'  Pleased  canst  thou  listen  to  the  patriot's  groan, 
And  the  wild  wail  of  innocence  forlorn? 

And  hear  th'  abandon'd  maid's  last  frantic  moan, 
Her  love  for  ever  from  her  bosom  torn  ? 

'  Nor  wilt  thou  shrink,  when  Virtue's  fainting  breath 
Pours  the  dread  curse  of  vengeance  on  thy  head? 

Nor  when  the  pale  ghost  bursts  the  cave  of  death, 
To  glare  destruction  on  thy  midnight  bed  ? 

'  Was  it  for  this,  though  born  to  regal  power, 
Kind  Heav'n  to  thee  did  nobler  gifts  consign, 

Bade  Fancy's  influence  gild  thy  natal  hour, 
And  bade  Philanthropy's  applause  be  thine? 


244  THE  JUDGMENT 

Theirs  be  the  dreadful  glory  to  destroy, 

And  theirs  the  pride  of  pomp  and  praise  suborn'd, 
Whose  eye  ne'er  lighten'd  at  the  smile  of  Joy, 
Whose  cheek  the  tear  of  Pity  ne'er  adorn'd : 

•  Whose  soul,  each  finer  sense  instinctive  quell'd. 

The  lyre's  mellifluous  ravishment  defies: 
_Nor  marks  where  Beauty  roves  the  flowery  field, 
Or  Grandeur's  pinion  sweeps  th'  unbounded  skies. 

'  Hail  to  sweet  Fancy's  unexpressive  charm  ! 

Hail  to  the  pure  delights  of  social  love  ! 
Hail,  pleasures  mild,  that  fire  not  while  ye  warm, 

Nor  rack  th'  exulting  frame,  but  gently  move  ! 

'  But  Fancy  soothes  no  more,  if  stern  Remorse 
With  iron  grasp  the  tortured  bosom  wring. 

Ah  then,  even  Fancy  speeds  the  venom's  course, 
Even  Fancy  points  with  rage  the  maddening  sting. 

•  Her  wrath  a  thousand  gnashing  fiends  attend, 

And  roll  the  snakes,  and  toss  the  brands  of  He'il : 
The  beam  of  Beauty  blasts  :  dark  Heavens  impend 
Tottering  :  and  Music  thrills  with  startling  yell. 

'What  then  avails,  that  with  exhaustless  store 
Obsequious  Luxury  loads  thy  glittering  shrine? 

What  then  avails,  lhat  prostrate  slaves  adore, 
And  Fame  proclaims  thee  matchless  and  divine  ? 

'  What  though  bland  Flattery  all  her  arts  apply — 
Will  these  avail  to  calm  th'  infuriate  brain? 

Or  will  the  roaring  surge,  when  heaved  on  high, 
Headlong  hang,  hush'd,  to  hear  the  piping  swain? 

•  In  health  how  fair,  how  ghastly  in  decay 

Man's  lofty  form  !  how  heavenly  fair  the  mind 
Sublimed  by  Virtue's  sweet  enlivening  sway  ! 
But  ah,  to  Guilt's  outrageous  rule  resign'd. 


OF   PARIS.  246 

'  How  hideous  and  forlorn  !  when  ruthless  Care 
With  cankering  tooth  corrcdes  the  seeds  of  life, 

And  deaf  with  passion's  storms  when  pines  Despair, 
And  bowling  furies  rouge  th'  eternal  strife. 

'  O,  by  thy  hopes  of  joy  that  restless  glow, 

Pledges  of  Heaven  !  be  taught  by  Wisdom's  lore  • 

With  anxious  haste  each  doubtful  path  forego, 
And  life's  wild  ways  with  cautious  fear  explore. 

'  Straight  be  thy  course  :  nor  tempt  the  maze  that  leads 
Where  fell  Remorse  his  shapeless  strength  conceals. 

And  oft  Ambition's  dizzy  cliff  he  treads, 

And  slumbers  oft  in  Pleasure's  flowery  vales. 

*  Nor  linger  unresolved  :  Heaven  prompts  the  choice 

Save  when  Presumption  shuts  the  ear  of  Pride  : 
With  grateful  awe  attend  to  Nature's  voice, 
The  voice  of  Nature  Heaven  ordain'd  thy  guide. 

'  Warn'd  by  her  voice,  the  arduous  path  pursue, 
That  leads  to  Virtue's  fane  a  hardy  band  : 

What,  though  no  gaudy  scenes  decoy  their  view, 
Nor  clouds  of  fragrance  roll  along  the  land  ? 

*  What,  though  rude  mountains  heave  the  flinty  way  ? 

Yet  there  the  soul  drinks  light  and  life  divine, 
And  pure  aerial  gales  of  gladness  play, 
Bi  ace  every  nerve,  and  every  sense  refine. 

*  Go,  prince,  be  virtuous,  and  be  blest.    The  throne 

Rears  not  its  state  to  swell  the  couch  of  Lust: 
Nor  dignify  Corruption's  daring  son, 

T'  o'erwhelm  his  humbler  brethren  of  the  dust. 

'  But  yield  an  ampler  scene  to  Bounty's  eye, 
An  ampler  range  to  Mercy's  ear  expand  : 

And,  'midst  admiring  nations,  set  on  high 
Virtue's  fail  model,  framed  by  Wisdom's  hand. 


246  THE  JUDGMENT 

'  Go,  then :  the  moan  of  Woe  demands  thine  aid  : 
Pride's  licensed  outrage  claims  thy  slumbering  ire  : 

Pale  Genius  roams  the  bleak  neglected  shade, 
And  battening  Avarice  mocks  his  tuneless  lyre. 

*  Even  Nature  pines  by  vilest  chains  oppress'd  : 

Th'  astonish 'd  kingdoms  crouch  to  Fashion's  nod. 
0  ye  pure  inmates  of  the  gentle  breast, 

Truth,  Freedom,  Love,  O  where  is  your  abode? 

'  O  yet  once  more  shall  Peace  from  Heaven  return. 
And  young  Simplicity  with  mortals  dwell! 

Nor  Innocence  th'  august  pavilion  scorn, 
Nor  meek  Contentment  6y  the  humble  cell ! 

•Wilt  tliou,  my  prince,  th'  beauteous  train  implore, 
'Midst  Earth's  forsaken  scenes  once  more  to  bide? 

Then  shall  the  shepherd  sing  in  every  bower, 

And  Love  with  garlands  wreath  the  domes  of  Pride. 

'  The  bright  tear  starting  in  th'  impassion'd  eyes 

Of  silent  gratitude  ;  the  smiling  gaze 
Of  gratulation,  faltering  while  he  tries 

With  voice  of  transport  to  proclaim  thy  praise; 

'Th'  ethereal  glow  that  stimulates  thy  frame, 

When  all  lh'  according  powers  harmonious  move, 

And  wake  to  energy  each  social  aim, 
Attuned  spontaneous  to  the  will  of  Jove ; 

'  Be  these,  O  man,  the  triumphs  of  thy  soul ; 

And  all  the  conqueror's  dazzling  glories  slight, 
That,  meteor  like,  o'er  trembling  nations  roll, 

To  sink  at  once  in  deep  and  dreadful  night. 

*  Like  thine,  yon  orb's  stupendous  glories  burn 

With  genial  beam  ;  nor,  at  th'  approach  of  even, 
In  shades  of  horror  leave  the  world  to  mourn, 

But  gild  with  lingering  light  th'  impurpled  Heaven. 


OP    PARIS.  241 

Thus  while  she  spoke,  her  eye,  sedately  meek, 
Look'ii  ihe  pure  fervour  of  maternal  love. 

No  rival  zeal  intemperate  flush'd  her  cheek — 
Can  Beauty's  boast  the  soul  of  Wisdom  move  ? 

Worth's  nob  e  pride  can  Envy's  leer  appal, 
Or  staring  Folly's  vain  applauses  soothe  ? 

Can  ralous  Fear  Truth's  dauntless  heart  inthral  ? 
Suspicion  lurks  not  in  the  heart  of  Truth. 

And  now  the  shepherd  raised  his  pensive  head  : 
Yet  unresolved  and  fearful  roved  his  eyes, 

Scared  at  the  glances  of  the  awfui  maid  ; 

For  young  unpractised  Guilt  distrusts  the  guise 

Of  shameless  Arrogance — His  wav'ring  breast, 
Though  warm'd  by  Wisdom,  own'd  no  constant  6re. 

While  lawless  Fancy  roam'd  afar,  unblest, 
Save  in  the  iblivious  lap  of  soft  Desire. 

When  thus  the  queen  of  soul-dissolving  smiles : 
'  Let  gentler  fate  my  darling  prince  attend  ; 

Joyless  and  cruel  are  the  warrior's  spoils, 
Dreary  the  path  stern  Virtue's  sons  ascend. 

'  Of  human  joy  full  short  is  the  career, 

And  the  dread  verge  still  gains  upon  your  sight: 

While  idly  gazing,  far  beyond  your  sphere, 
Ye  scan  the  dream  of  unapproach'd  delight : 

*  Till  every  sprightly  hour,  and  blooming  scene. 
Of  life's  gay  morn  unheeded  glides  away, 

And  clouds  of  tempests  mount  the  blue  serene, 
And  storms  and  ruin  close  the  troublous  day. 

'Then  still  exult  to  hail  the  present  joy  ; 

Thine  be  the  boon  that  comes  unearn'd  by  toil ; 
No  froward  vain  desire  thy  bliss  annoy, 

No  flattering  hope  thy  longing  hours  beguile. 


248  THE  JUDGMENT 

'  Ah  !  why  should  man  pursue  the  charms  of  Fame, 

For  ever  luring,  yet  for  ever  coy  ? 
Light  as  the  gaudy  rainbow's  pillar'd  gleam, 

That  melts  illusive  from  the  wondering  boy  ! 
'  What  though  her  throne  irradiate  many  a  clime, 

If  hung  loose-tottering  o'er  th'  unfathom'd  tomb? 
What  though  her  mighty  clarion,  rear'd  sublime, 

Display  the  imperial  wreath,  and  glittering  plume? 

'  Can  glittering  plume,  or  can  th'  imperial  wreath 

Redeem  from  unrelenting  fate  the  brave  ? 
What  note  of  triumph  can  her  clarion  breathe, 

T'  alarm  th'  eternal  midnight  of  the  grave  ? 
'  That  night  draws  on  :  nor  will  the  vacant  hour 

Of  expectation  linger  as  it  flies  : 
Nor  Fate  one  moment  unenjoy'd  restore : 

Each  moment's  flight  how  precious  to  the  wise! 

'  O  shun  th'  annoyance  of  the  bustling  throng, 
That  haunt  with  zealous  turbulence  the  great ; 

There  coward  Office  boasts  th'  unpunished  wrong, 
And  sneaks  secure  in  insolence  of  state. 

'  O'er  fancied  injury  Suspicion  pines, 

And  in  grim  silence  gnaws  the  festering  wound  ; 

Deceit  the  rage-embitter'd  smile  refines, 

And  Censure  spreads  the  viperous  hiss  around. 

*  Hope  not,  fond  prince,  though  Wisdom  guard  thy 
throne, 

Though  Truth  and  Bounty  prompt  each  generous  aim. 
Though  thine  the  palm  of  peace,  the  victor's  crown, 

The  Muse's  rapture,  and  the  patriot's  flame  : 

'  Hope  not,  though  all  that  captivates  the  wise, 
All  that  endears  the  good  exalt  thy  praise  : 

Hope  not  to  taste  repose  :  for  Envy's  eyes 
At  fairest  worth  still  point  their  deadly  rays. 


*  Envy,  stern  tyrant  of  the,  flinty  heart, 

Can  aught  of  Virtue,  Truth,  or  Beauty  charin  T 
Can  soft  Compassion  thrill  with  pleasing  smart, 
Repentance  melt,  or  Gratitude  disarm  ? 

4  Ah  no.     Where  Winter  Scythia's  waste  enchains, 
And  monstrous  shapes  roar  to  the  ruthless  storm, 

Not  Phoebus'  smile  can  cheer  the  dreadful  plains, 
Or  soil  accursed  with  balmy  life  inform. 

'  Then,  Envy,  then  is  thy  triumphant  hour, 

When  mourns  Benevolence  hi*  b»M»-\  scheme : 

When  Insult  mocks  the  clemency  of  P»*er, 
And  loud  Dissension's  livid  firebrands  gleam  : 

4  When  squint-eyed  Slander  plies  th'  uuhallow'd 
tongue, 

From  poison'd  maw  when  Treason  weaves  his  line, 
And  muse  apostate  (infamy  to  song  ! ) 

Grovels,  low-muttering,  at  Sedition's  shrine. 

4  Let  not  my  prince  forego  the  peaceful  shade, 
The  whispering  grove,  the  fountain  and  the  plain: 

Power,  with  th'  oppressive  weight  of  pomp  array'd, 
Pants  for  simplicity  and  ease  in  vain. 

'The  yell  of  frantic  Miith  may  stun  his  ear, 

But  frantic  Mirth  soon  leaves  the  heart  forlorn: 

And  Pleasure  flies  that  high  tempestuous  sphere, 
Far  different  scenes  her  lucid  paths  adorn. 

*  She  loves  to  wander  on  th'  untrodden  lawn, 

Or  the  green  bosom  of  reclining  hill, 
Soothed  by  the  careless  warbler  of  the  dawn, 
Or  the  lone  plaint  of  ever-murmuring  rill. 

4  Or  from  the  mountain-glade's  aerial  brow, 
While  to  her  song  a  thousand  echoes  call, 

Marks  the  wild  woodland  wave  remote  below, 
Where  shepherds  pipe  unseen,  and  waters  fall. 
M2 


250  THE  JUDGMENT 

'  Hor  iufiuence  oft  the  festive  hatnlr t  proves, 
Where  the  high  carol  cheer;  th'  exulting  ring  : 

And  oft  she  roams  the  maze  of  wildering  groves, 
Listening  th'  unnumber'd  melodies  of  Spring. 

'  Or  to  the  long  and  lonely  shore  retires; 

What  time,  loose-glimmering  to  the  lunar  beam, 
Faint  heaves  the  slumberous  wave,  and  starry  fires 

Gild  the  blue  deep  with  many  a  lengthening  gleam. 

•  Then  to  the  balmy  bower  of  Rapture  borne, 

While  strings  self-warbling  breathe  elysian  rest, 
Melts  in  delicious  vision,  till  the  morn 

Spangle  with  twinkling  dew  the  flowery  waste. 

'  The  frolic  Moments,  purple-pinion'd,  dance 
Around,  and  scatter  roses  as  they  play  : 

A rul  the  blithe  Graces,  hand  in  hand,  advance, 

Where,  with  her  loved  compeers,  she  deigns  to  stray. 

•  Mild  Solitude,  in  veil  of  rustic  die, 

Her  sylvan  spear  with  moss-grown  ivy  bound: 
And  Indolence,  with  sweetly-languid  eye, 

And  zoneless  robe  that  trails  along  the  ground. 

'  But  chirfly  Love — O  thou,  whose  gentle  mind 
Each  soft  indulgence  Nature  framed  to  share, 

Poinp,  wealth,  renown,  dominion,  all  resign'd, 
O  haste  to  Pleasure's  bower,  for  Love  is  there. 

'  Love,  the  desire  of  gods  !  the  feast  of  Heaven  I 
Yet  to  Earth's  favour'd  offspring  not  denied  ! 

Ah,  let  not  thankless  man  the  blessing  given 
Enslave  to  Fame,  or  sacrifice  to  Pride. 

'  Nor  I  from  Virtue's  call  decoy  thine  ear ; 

Friendly  to  Pleasure  are  her  sacred  laws  : 
Let  Temperance' smile  the  cup  of  gladness  cheer; 

That  cup  is  death,  if  he  withhold  applause. 


OF  PARIS.  251 

'Far  from  thy  haunt  be  Envy's  baneful  sway, 

And  Hate,  that  works  the  harass'd  soul  to  storm  : 

But  woo  Content  to  breathe  her  soothing  lay, 
And  charm  from  Fancy's  view  each  angry  form 

'No  savage  joy  th'  harmonious  hours  profane! 

Whom  Love  refines,  can  barbarous  tumults  please? 
Shall  rage  of  blood  pollute  the  sylvan  reign? 

Shall  Leisure  wanton  in  the  spoils  of  Peace  ? 

'Free  let  the  feathery  race  indulge  the  song, 
Inhale  the  liberal  beam,  and  melt  in  love  : 

Free  let  the  fleet  hind  bound  her  hills  along, 
And  in  pure  streams  the  watery  nations  rove 

'  To  joy  in  Nature's  universal  smile 

Well  suits,  O  man,  thy  pleasurable  sphere  ; 

But  why  should  Virtue  doom  thy  years  to  toil? 
Ah,  why  should  Virtue's  law  be  deem'd  severe? 

*  What  meed,  Beneficence,  thy  care  repays  ? 

What,  Sympathy,  thy  still  returning  pang  ? 
And  why  his  generous  arm  should  Justice  raise, 
To  dare  (he  vengeance  of  a  tyrant's  fang  ? 

«  From  thankless  spite  no  bounty  can  secure  j 

Or  froward  wish  of  discontent  fulfil, 
That  knows  not  to  regret  thy  bounded  power, 

But  blames  with  keen  reproach  thy  partial  will 

*  To  check  th'  impetuous  all  involving  tide 

Of  human  woes,  how  impotent  thy  strife! 

High  o'er  thy  mounds  devouring  surges  ride, 

Nor  reek  thy  baffled  toils,  or  lavishM  life. 

The  bower  of  bliss,  the  smile  of  love  be  thine, 

Unlabour'd  ease,  and  leisure's  careless  dream: 
Such  be  their  joys,  who  bend  at  Venus'  shrine, 
And  own  her  charms  beyond  compare  supreme. 
.S 


252          THE  WOLF  AND  SHEPHERDS. 

Warm'd  as  she  spoke,  all  panting  with  delight, 
Her  kindling  beauties  breathed  triumphant  bloom  : 

And  Cupids  flutter'd  round  in  circlets  bright, 
And  Flora  pour'd  from  all  her  stores  perfume. 

'Thine  be  the  prize,'  exclaim'd  th'  enraptured  youth, 
*  Queen  of  unrivall'd  charms,  and  matchless  joy.'-— 

O  blind  to  fate,  felicity,  and  truth  ! — 

But  such  are  they,  whom  Pleasure's  snares  decoy. 

The  sun  was  sunk ;  the  vision  was  no  more  ; 

Night  downward  rush'd  tempestuous,  at  the  frown 
Of  Jove's  awaken'd  wrath :  deep  thunders  roar, 

And  forests  howl  afar  and  mountains  groan. 

And  sanguine  meteors  glare  athwart  the  plain  ; 

With  horror's  scream  the  Ilian  towers  resound, 
Raves  the  hoarse  storm  along  the  bellowing  main, 

And  the  strong  earthquake  rends  the  shuddering 
ground. 


THE  WOLF  AND  SHEPHERDS. 

A  FABLE. 

(Written  in  1757,  and  first  published  la  1766.) 
LAWS,  as  we  read  in  ancient  sages, 
Have  been  like  cobwebs  in  all  ages. 
Cobwebs  for  little  flies  are  spread. 
And  laws  for  little  folks  are  made ; 
But  if  an  insect  of  renown, 
Hornet  or  beetle,  wasp  or  drone, 
Be  caught  in  quest  of  sport  or  plunder, 
The  flimsy  fetter  flics  in  sunder. 

Your  simile  perhaps  may  please  one 
With  whom  wit  holds  the  place  of  reason: 


THE  \VOLF  AND  SHEPHERDS.          358 

But  can  you  prove  that  this  in  fact  is 
Agreeable  to  life  and  practice? 

Then  hear  what  in  his  simple  way 
Old  jEsop  told  me  t'  other  day. 
In  days  of  yore, but  (which  is  very  odd) 
Our  author  mentions  not  the  period, 
We  mortal  men,  less  given  to  speeches, 
Allow'd  the  beasts  sometimes  to  teach  u». 
But  now  we  all  are  prattlers  grown, 
And  suffer  no  voice  but  our  own  ; 
With  us  no  beast  has  leave  to  speak, 
Although  his  honest  heart  should  break 
'Tis  true,  your  asses  and  your  apes. 
And  other  brutes  in  human  shapes, 
And  that  thing  made  of  sound  and  show 
Which  mortals  have  misnamed  a  bean, 
(But  in  the  language  of  the  sky 
Is  call'd  a  two  legg'd  butterfly) 
Will  make  your  very  heartstrings  ache 
With  loud  and  everlasting  clack, 
And  beat  your  auditory  drum, 
Till  you  grow  deaf,  and  they  grow  dumb. 

But  to  our  story  we  return: 
Twas  early  on  a  summer  morn 
A  wolf  forsook  the  mountain-den, 
And  issued  hungry  on  the  plain. 
Full  many  a  stream  and  lawn  he  pass'd, 
And  reach'd  a  winding  vale  at  last; 
Where  from  a  hollow  rock  he  spied 
The  shepherds  drest  in  flowery  pride. 
Garlands  were  strew'd,  and  all  was  gay, 
To  celebrate  an  holiday, 
The  merry  tabor's  gamesome  sound 
Provoked  the  sprightly  dance  around. 
Hard  by  a  rural  bo-tid  was  rear'd, 
On  which  in  fair  array  appeared 


364         THE  WOLF  /IND  SHEPHERDS 

The  peach,  the  apple,  and  thn  raism, 
And  all  the  fruitage  of  the  season. 
But,  more  distinguished  than  the  rest, 
Was  seen  a  wether  ready  drest, 
That  smoking,  recent  from  the  flame, 
Diffused  a  stomach-rousing  steam. 
Our  wolf  could  not  endure  the  sight, 
Courageous  grew  his  appetite  : 
His  entrails  groan  "d  with  tenfold  pain, 
He  iick'd  his  lips,  and  lick'd  again  ; 
At  last,  with  lightning  in  his  eyes, 
He  bounces  forth,  and  fiercely  cries, 
'  Shepherds,  I  am  not  given  to  scolding, 
But  now  my  spleen  I  cannot  hold  in. 
By  Jove  !  such  scandalous  oppression 
Would  put  an  elephant  in  passion. 
You,  who  your  flocks  (as  you  pretend) 
By  wholesome  laws  from  harm  defend, 
Which  make  it  death  for  any  beast, 
How  much  soe'er  by  hunger  press'd, 
To  seize  a  sheep  by  force  or  stealth, 
For  sheep  have  right  to  life  and  health  j 
Can  you  commit,  uncheck'd  by  shame, 
What  iii  a  beast  so  much  you  blame  ? 
What  is  a  law,  if  those  who  make  it 
Become  the  forwardest  to  break  it  ? 
The  case  is  plain  :  you  would  reserve 
All  to  yourselves,  while  others  starve. 
Such  laws  from  base  self-interest  spring, 
Not  from  the  reason  of  the  thing — ' 
He  was  proceeding,  when  a  swain 
Burst  out : — '  And  dares  a  wolf  arraign 
His  betters,  and  condemn  their  measures, 
And  contradict  their  wills  and  pleasures? 
We  have  establish'd  laws,  'tis  true, 
But  laws  are  made  for  such  as  you. 


THE  WOLF    AND   SHEPHERDS.        266 

Know,  sirrah,  in  its  very  nature 

A  law  can't  reach  the  legislature. 

For  laws,  without  a  sanction  join'd, 

As  all  men  know,  can  never  bind  : 

But  sanctions  reach  not  us  the  makers, 

For  who  dares  punish  us,  though  breakers? 

Tis  therefore  plain  beyond  denial, 

That  laws  were  ne'er  design'd  to  tie  all, 

But  those,  whom  sanctions  reach  alone  , 

We  stand  accountable  to  none. 

Besides,  'tis  evident,  that,  seeing 

Laws  from  the  great  derive  their  being. 

They  as  in  duty  bound  should  love 

The  greut,  in  whom  they  live  and  move, 

And  humbly  yield  to  their  desires: 

Tis  just,  what  gratitude  requires. 

What  suckliug  dandled  on  the  lap 

Would  tear  away  its  mother's  pap? 

But  hold — Why  deign  I  to  dispute 

With  such  a  scoundrel  of  a  brute? 

Logic  is  lost  upon  a  knave, 

Let  action  prove  the  la-,v  our  slave.' 

An  angry  nod  his  will  declared, 
To  his  gruff  yeomen  of  the  guard  ; 
The  full-fed  mongrels,  train'd  to  ravage, 
Fly  to  devour  the  shaggy  savage. 

The  beast  had  now  no  time  to  lose 
In  chopping  logic  with  his  foes  ; 
•  This  argument,'  quoth  he,  •  has  force, 
And  swiftness  is  my  sole  resource.' 

He  said,  and  left  the  swains  their  prey, 
And  to  the  mountains  scower'd  away. 


TRANSLATIONS. 


ANACREON.     ODE  XX1L 


KaOurov  --- 

BATHYLI  US,  in  yonder  lone  grove 

All  carelessly  let  us  recline  : 

To  shade  us  the  branches  above 

Their  leaf  waving  tendrils  combine  ; 

While  a  streamlet,  inviting  repose, 

Soft-murmuring,  wanders  away, 

And  gales  warble  wild  through  the  bough*: 

Who  there  would  i.ot  pass  the  sweet  day  f 


THE   BEGINNING   OF  THE 

FIRST  BOOK  OF  LUCRETIUS. 

.ffineadum  Genetrix v.  1—44. 

MOTHER  of  mighty  Rome's  imperial  line, 
Delight  of  man,  and  of  the  powers  divine, 
Venus,  all  bounteous  queen!  whose  genial  power 
Diffuses  beauty  in  unbounded  store 
Through  seas,  and  fertile  plains,  and  all  that  lies 
Beneath  the  starr'd  expansion  of  the  skies. 
Prepared  by  thee,  the  embryo  springs  to  day. 
And  opes  its  eyelids  on  the  golden  ray. 
At  thy  approach,  the  clouds  tumultuous  fly, 
And  the  hush'd  storms  in  gentle  breezes  die; 
Flowers  instantaneous  spring ;  the.  billows  sleep  ; 
A  wavy  radiance  smiles  along  the  deep : 


FIRST   BOOK  OK    LUCRETIUS.         257 

At  thy  approach,  th'  untroubled  sky  refines, 

And  all  serene  Heaven's  lofty  concave  shines. 

Soon  as  her  blooming  form  the  Spring  reveals, 

And  Zephyr  breathes  his  warm  prolific  gales. 

The  feather'd  tribes  first  catch  the  genial  flame. 

And  to  the  groves  thy  glad  return  proclaim. 

Thence  to  the  beasts  the  soft  infection  spreads; 

The  raging  cattle  spurn  the  grassy  meads, 

Burst  o'er  the  plains,  and  frantic  in  their  course 

Cleave  the  wild  torrents  with  resistless  force. 

Won  by  thy  charms,  thy  dictates  all  obey, 

And  eager  follow  where  thou  lead'st  the  way. 

Whatever  haunts  the  mountains,  or  the  main. 

The  rapid  river,  or  the  verdant  plain, 

Or  forms  its  leafy  mansion  in  the  shades, 

All,  all  thy  u-niversal  power  pervades, 

Each  panting  bosom  melts  to  soft  desires, 

And  with  the  love  of  propagation  fires. 

And  since  thy  sove/eign  influence  guides  the  reins 

Of  nature,  and  the  universe  sustains; 

Since  nought  without  thee  bursts  the  bonds  of  night, 

To  hail  the  happy  realms  of  heavenly  light  j 

Since  love,  and  joy,  and  harmony  are  thine, 

Guide  me,  O  goddess,  by  thy  power  divine, 

And  to  my  rising  lays  thy  succour  bring, 

While  I  the  universe  attempt  to  sing. 

O  may  my  verse  deserved  applause  obtain 

Of  him,  for  whom  I  try  the  daring  strain, 

My  Memmius,  him,  whom  thou  profusely  kind 

Adorn'st  with  every  excellence  refined. 

And  that  immortal  charms  my  song  may  grace, 

Let  war,  with  all  its  cruel  labours,  cease  ; 

O  hush  the  dismal  din  of  arms  once  more, 

And  calm  the  jarring  world  from  shore  to  shore. 

By  thee  alone  the  race  of  man  foiegoes 

The  rage  of  blood,  and  sinks  in  soft  repose: 


258  HORACE. 

For  mighty  Mars,  the  dreadful  god  of  arms, 

Who  wakes  or  stills  the  battle's  dire  alarms, 

In  love's  strong  fetters  by  thy  charms  is  bound, 

And  languishes  with  an  eternal  wound. 

Oft  from  his  bloody  toil  the  god  retires 

To  quench  in  thy  embrace  his  fierce  desires. 

Soft  on  thy  heaving  bosom  he  reclines, 

And  round  thy  yielding  neck  transported  twine*; 

There  fix'd  in  ecstacy  intense  surveys 

Thy  kindling  beauties  with  insatiate  gaze, 

Grows  to  thy  balmy  mouth,  and  ardent  sips 

Celestial  sweets  from  thy  ambrosial  lips. 

O  while  the  god  with  fiercest  raptures  blest 

Lies  all  dissolving  on  thy  sacred  breast, 

O  breathe  thy  melting  whispers  to  his  ear, 

And  bid  him  still  the  loud  alarms  of  war. 

In  these  tumultuous  days  the  Muse  in  vain, 

Her  steady  tenour  lost,  pursues  the  strain, 

And  Meaimius's  generous  soul  disu  »ins  to  taste 

The  calm  delights  of  philosophic  rest  j 

Paternal  fires  his  beating  breast  inflame. 

To  rescue  Rome,  and  vindicate  her  name 


HORACE,  BOOK  II.    ODE  X. 

Keclius  vive«,  Ucini 

WoULDST  thou  through  life  securely  glide, 
Nor  boundless  o'er  the  ocean  ride  j 
Nor  ply  too  near  th'  insidious  shore, 
Scared  at  the  tempest's  threat'ning  roar. 
The  man  who  follows  Wisdom's  voice, 
And  makes  the  golden  mean  his  choice, 
Nor  plunged  in  antique  gloomy  cells 
'Midst  hoary  desolation  dwells ; 


HORACE.  259 

Nor  to  allure  the  envious  eye 
Rears  his  proud  palace  to  the  sky. 

The  pine,  that  all  the  grove  transcends, 
With  every  blast  the  tempest  rends; 
Totters  the  tower  with  thund'rous  sound, 
And  spreads  a  mighty  ruiii  round  ; 
Jove's  bolt  with  desolating  blow 
Strikes  the  ethereal  mountain's  brow. 

The  man,  whose  steadfast  soul  can  bear 
Fortune  indulgent  or  severe, 
Hopes  when  she  frowns,  and  when  she  imilat 
With  cautious  fear  eludes  her  wiles. 
Jove  with  rude  winter  wastes  the  plain, 
Jove  decks  the  rosy  spring  again. 
Life's  former  ills  are  overpast, 
Nor  will  the  present  always  last. 
Now  Phoebus  wings  his  shafts,  and  DOW 
He  lays  aside  th'  unbended  bow, 
Strikes  into  life  the  trembling  string. 
And  wakes  the  silent  Muse  to  sing. 

With  uuabating  courage,  brave 
Adversity's  tumultuous  wave; 
When  too  propitious  breezes  rise. 
And  the  light  vessel  swiftly  flies, 
With  timid  caution  catch  the  gale, 
And  shorten  the  distended  sail. 


HORACE,  BOOK  III.    ODE  XIII. 

O  Fona  Blandusiae 

BLANDDSI A  !  more  than  crystal  clear! 
Whose  soothing  murmurs  charm  the  ear! 
Whose  margin  soft  with  flowrets  crown'd 
Invite*  the  festive  band  around. 


260  HORACE. 

Their  careless  limbs  diffused  supine. 
To  quaff  the  soul-enlivening  wine. 

To  tliee  a  tender  kid  I  vow, 
That  aims  for  fight  his  budcTingbrow; 
In  thought,  the  wrathful  combat  prove 
Or  wantons  with  his  little  loves  : 
But  vain  are  all  his  purposed  schemes, 
Delusive  all  his  flattering  dreams  ; 
To-morrow  shall  his  fervent  blood 
Stain  the  .pure  silver  of  thy  flood. 

When  fiery  Sirius  blasts  the  plain, 
Untouch'd  thy  gelid  streams  remain. 
To  thee,  the  fainting  flocks  repair, 
To  taste  thy  cool  reviving  air ; 
To  thee,  the  ox  with  toil  opprest, 
And  lays  his  languid  limbs  to  rest. 

As  springs  of  old  renown'd,  thy  name, 
Blest  fountain  !  I  devote  to  fame; 
Thus  while  I  sing  in  deathless  lays, 
The  verdant  holm,  whose  waving  sprayt, 
Thy  sweet  retirement  to  defend. 
High  o'er  the  moss-grown  rock  impend, 
Whence  prattling  in  loquacious  play 
Thy  sprightly  waters  leap  away. 


THE  PASTORALS  OF  VIRGIL. 


Nou  Ita  cer'a-x'i  cupidus,  quam  propter  amorem 
(tend  tt  indtari  area Lucrtt.  lib.  ill. 


PASTORAL  I.« 

MELIBCEUS,   TITYRUS. 

Melib&ut. 

WHERE  the  broad  beech  au  ample  shade  displays. 
Your  slender  reed  resounds  the  sylvan  lays, 
O  happy  Tityrus  !  while  we,  forlorn, 
Driven  from  our  lands,  to  distant  climes  are  borne, 
Stretch'd  careless  in  the  peaceful  shade  you  sing, 
And  all  the  groves  with  Amaryllis  ring. 

•  It  has  been  observed  by  some  critics,  who  have  treated  of  pasto- 
ral pot-try,  that,  in  every  poem  of  this  kind,  it  is  proper  that  the  scene 
or  landscape,  connected  with  the  little  plot  or  fable  on  which  the  poem 
is  founded,  be  delineated  with  at  least  as  much  accuracy  as  is  -  utii- 
cient  to  render  the  description  particular  and  pictur.  squ'c.  Mo*  fur 
Virgil  has  thought  fit  to  atteud  to  snrh  a  rule  may  appear  from  the 
remark!  which  the  translator  has  subjoined  to  every  pastoral. 

The  icene  of  the  first  pastoral  is  pictured  out  with  great  accuracy. 
The  shepherds  Meliboeus  and  Tuyrus  are  represented  as  convening 
together  beneath  a  spreading  beech-tree.  Flocks  and  herds  are  feed- 
rock,  and  on  the  other  a  fence  of  flowering  willows.  The  prospect  a< 
it  widen-  I*  diver-ilied  with  groves,  and  streams,  and  sonu-  t.ill  irees, 
particularly  elms.  Beyond  all  these  appear  marshy  grounds,  and 
rocky  hills.  The  ragged  and  drooping  flock  of  the  uiiforiun.it.-  shep- 
herd  particularly  the  she-goat  which  he  leads  along,  are  110  incon-l- 
derable  figures  in  this  picture.— The  time  is  the  eveni"?  of  a  Mirnmer- 
day,  a  little  before  sunset.  See  of  the  original,  ».  i  5.  9.  52.  54.  57. 
49.  81,  &c. 

'I  his  pastoral  te  said  to  have  been  written  on  the  following  occasion. 
Augustus,  in  order  to  reward  the  services  of  hi,  veteran*,  by  means  ol 
whom  hi-  h  nl  estiblUhed  inm-eil'  in  the  Roman  empire,  disnibu.id 
among  them  the  lands  that  lay  contiguous  to  Mantua  and  Creinon.i. 
To  make  way  for  the-c  iniru,l.-rs,  the  rightful  owners, of  whom  Virgil 
was  one,  were  turned  out.  Hut  our  poet,  bv  the  inti-rcrsjinn  of  Me- 
cenus,  was  rrin-t-itnl  in  I  lit  poc»essions.  M,  litntus  here  personali-s 
one  of  ih.  unhappy  exiles,  ?i)J  Virgil  is  represented  undur  the  cha- 
racter ol Tit>rus. 


262  TDK  PASTUHALS 

Tityrvs. 

This  peace  to  a  propitious  god  I  owe  ; 
None  else,  my  friend,  such  blessings  could  bestow. 
Him  will  I  celebrate  with  rights  divine, 
Aud  frequent  lambs  shall  stain  his  sacred  shrine. 
By  him,  these  feeding  herds  in  safety  stray  ; 
By  him,  in  peaco  I  pipe  the  rural  lay. 
Melibaeut. 

I  envy  not,  but  wonder  at  your  fate, 
That  no  alarms  invade  tMs  blest  retreat; 
While  neighbouring  fields  the  voice  of  woe  resound, 
And  desolation  rages  all  around. 
Worn  with  fatigue  I  slowly  onward  bend, 
And  scarce  my  feeble  fainting  goats  attend. 
My  hand  this  sickly  dam  can  hardly  bear, 
Whose  young  new-yean'd  (ah  once  an  hopeful  pair!) 
Amid  the  tangling  hazels  as  they  lay, 
On  the  sharp  flint  vere  left  to  pine  away. 
These  ills  I  had  foreseen,  but  that  my  mind 
To  all  portents  and  prodigies  was  blind. 
Oft  have  the  blasted  oaks  foretold  my  woe  : 
And  often  has  the  inauspicious  crow, 
Perch'd  on  the  vvither'd  holm,  with  fateful  cries 
Scream'd  in  my  ear  her  dismal  prophecies. 
But  say,  O  Tityrus,  what  god  bestows 
This  blissful  life  of  undisturb'd  repose? 
Tityna 

Imperial  Rome,  while  yet  to  me  unknown, 
I  vainly  liken'd  to  our  country  town, 
Our  little  Mantua,  at  which  is  sold 
The  yearly  offspring  of  our  fruitful  fold : 
As  in  the  whelp  the  father's  shape  appears, 
And  as  the  kid  its  mother's  semblance  bears. 
Thus  greater  things  my  inexperienced  mind 
Rated  by  others  of  inferior  kind. 


OF  VIRGIL.  263 

But  she,  'midst  other  cities,  rears  her  head 
High,  as  the  cypress  overtops  the  reed. 

Melibamt, 

And  why  to  visit  Rome  was  you  inclin'd  ? 
Titynu. 

Twas  there  I  hoped  my  liberty  to  find. 
And  there  my  liberty  I  found  at  last, 
Though  long  with  listless  indolence  opprest; 
Yet  not  till  Time  had  silver'd  o'er  my  hairs, 
And  I  had  told  a  tedious  length  of  years  j 
Nor  till  the  gentle  Amaryllis  charm'd,* 
And  Galatea's  love  no  longer  warm'd. 
For  (to  my  friend  I  will  confess  the  whole) 
While  Galatea  captive  held  my  soul, 
Languid  and  lifeless  all  I  dragg'd  the  chain, 
Neglected  liberty,  neglected  gain, 
Though  from  my  fold  the  frequent  victim  bled. 
Though  my  fat  cheese  th'  ungrateful  city  fed, 
For  this  I  ne'er  perceived  my  wealth  increase; 
I  lavish 'd  all  her  haughty  heart  to  please. 

Melibanu. 

Why  Amaryllis  pined,  and  pass'd  away 
In  lonely  shades  the  melancholy  day  , 
Why  to  the  gods  she  breathed  incessant  vows ; 
For  whom  her  mellow  apples  press'd  the  boughs 
So  late,  I  wonder'd — Tityrus  was  gone, 
And  she  (ah  luckless  maid  !)  was  left  alone. 
Your  absence  every  warbling  fountain  mourn'd. 
And  woods  and  wilds  the  wailing  strains  return'd. 

Tityrvt. 

What  could  I  do  ?  to  break  tli'  enslaving  chain 
AH  other  efforts  had  (alas  !)  been  vain  ; 

•  The  refinements  of  Taubniannu*,  Dp  I. a  Cerd.i,  and  other*,  nh« 
will  have  Amaryllis  In  -i^'miy  Home,  anil  Galatea  In  «i.-niiy  Muniu  i, 
have  perplexed  this  pus-aje  not  a  little  :  i/thc  literal  meatilng  tie  ad- 
mitted, the.  whole  beciiDie*  obir  u»  ,u«i  natural. 


264  rilli  PASTOKALS 

Nor  durst  my  hopes  presume,  but  there,  to  find 
The  gods  so  condescending  and  so  kind. 
'Twas  there  these  eyes  the  Heaven  born  youth* 

beheld, 

To  whom  our  altars  monthly  incense  yield  : 
My  suit  he  even  prevented,  while  he  spoke, 
'  Manure  your  ancient  farm,  and  feed  your  formo» 

flock.' 

Melibcevi. 

Happy  old  man !  then  shall  your  lands  remain, 
Extent  sufficient  for  th'  industrious  swain! 
Though  bleak  and  bare  ypn  ridgy  rocks  arise, 
And  lost  in  lakes  the  neighbouring  pasture  lies. 
Your  herds  on  wonted  ground-s  shall  safely  range, 
And  never  feel  the  dire  effects  of  change. 
No  foreign  flock  shall  spread  infecting  bane 
To  hurt  your  pregnant  dams,  thrice  happy  swain! 
You  by  known  streams  and  sacred  fountains  laid 
Shall  taste  the  coolness  of  the  fragrant  shade, 
Beneath  yon  fence,  where  willow-houghs  unite, 
And  to  their  flowers  the  swarming  bees  invite, 
Oft  shall  the  lulling  hum  persuade  to  rest, 
And  balmy  slumbers  steal  into  your  breast ; 
While  warbled  from  this  rock  the  pruner's  lay 
In  deep  repose  dissolves  your  soul  away; 
High  on  yon  elm  the  turtle  wails  alone, 
And  your  loved  ring  doves  breathe  a  hoarser  moan, 

Tityrtu. 

The  nimble  harts  shall  graze  in  empty  air, 
And  seas  reti eating  leave  their  fishes  bare, 
The  German  dwell  where  rapid  Tigris  flows, 
The  Parthian,  banish'd  by  invading  foes, 
Shall  drink  the  Gallic  Arar,  from  my  breast 
Ere  his  majestic  image  be  effaced. 
*  Augustus  Cmar. 


OF  VIRGIL.  1 

Melibaeus. 

But  we  must  travel  o'er  a  .cngth  of  land*, 
O'er  Scythian  snows,  or  Afric's  burning  sandi; 
Some  wander  where  remote  Oaxes  laves 
The  Cretan  meadows  with  his  rapid  waves; 
In  Britain  some,  from  every  comfort  torn, 
From  all  the  world  removed,  are  doom'd  to  mourn. 
When  long  long  years  have  tedious  roll'd  away, 
Ah!  shall  I  yet  at  last,  at  last,  survey 
My  dear  paternal  lands,  and  dear  abode, 
Where  once  I  reign'd  in  walls  of  humble  sod ! 
These  lands,  these  harvests  must  the  soldier  share  ! 
For  rude  barbarians  lavish  we  our  care  ! 
How  are  our  fields  become  the  spoil  of  wart ! 
How  are  we  ruin'd  by  intestine  jars! 
Now,  Melihceus,  now  ingraffthe  pear, 
Now  teach  the  vine  its  tender  sprays  to  rear!  — 
Go  then,  my  goats  ! — go,  once  a  happy  store- 
Once  happy  ! — happy  now  (alas!)  no  more! 
No  more  shall  I,  beneath  the  bowery  shade 
In  rural  quiet  indolently  laid, 
Behold  you  from  afar  the  cliffs  ascend, 
And  from  the  shrubby  precipice  depend  ; 
No  more  to  music  wake  my  melting  flute. 
While  on  the  thyme  you  feed,  and  willow's  whole* 
some  shoot. 

Tityrtts. 

This  night  at  least  with  me  you  may  repose 
On  the  green  foliage,  and  forget  our  woes. 
Apples  and  nuts  mature  our  boughs  afford, 
And  curdled  milk  in  plenty  crowns  my  board, 
Now  from  yon  hamlets  clouds  of  smoke  arise, 
And  slowly  roll  along  the  evening  skies  j 
And  see,  projected  from  the  mountain's  brow, 
A  lengthen'd  shade  obscures  the  plain  below. 

N 


THE  PASTORALS 


YonNG  Cory  don  for  fair  Alexis  pined, 
But  hope  ne'er  gladden'd  his  desponding  mind; 
Nor  TOWS  nor  tears  the  scornful  boy  could  move, 
Distinguish'd  by  his  wealthier  master's  love. 
Oft  to  the  beech's  deep-embowering  shade 
Pensive  and  sad  this  hapless  shepherd  stray'd ; 
There  told  in  artless  verse  his  tender  paiu 
To  echoing  hills  and  groves,  but  all  in  vain. 

In  vain  the  flute's  complaining  lays  I  try  ! 
And  am  I  doom'd,  unpitying  boy,  to  die; 
Now  to  faint  flocks  the  grove  a  shade  supplies, 
And  in  the  thorny  brake  the  lizard  lies; 
Now  Thestylis  with  herbs  of  savory  taste 
Prepares  the  weary  harvest-man's  repast : 
And  all  is  sti'l,  save  where  the  buzzing  sound 
Of  chirping  grasshoppers  is  heard  around  : 
While  I,  exposed  to  all  the  rage  of  heat, 
Wander  the  wilds  in  search  of  thy  retreat. 

Was  it  not  easier  to  support  the  pain 
I  felt  from  Amaryllis'  fierce  disdain? 

*  The  ctiief  excellency  of  this  poem  consists  in  its  delicacy  and  sits. 
plicity.  Condon  addresses  his  favourite  in  such  a  parity  ..f  .(-raiment 
as  one  wouM  think  might  effectually  discountenance  theprepo».session« 
which  generally  prevail  asainsl  ihe  subject  of  ihis  eclogue.  The  na- 
ture of  his  affection  m.iy  easily  be  ascertained  from  hi-  ideas  of  the 
happiness  which  he  liopea  to  enjoy  in  the  company  of  his  beloved 
Alexis. 

O  tantum  libeat 

O  deiRn  at  List  amid  Ihi-se  lonely  fields,  &c. 

It  appears  lo  have  been  no  other  than  that  friendship,  which  wa»  en- 
cour.iged  by  the  wisest  legislators  of  ancient  Greece,  as  a  noble  incen- 
tive to  virtue,  and  recommended  by  the  example  even  of  Agesilaus, 
Pericles,  and  Socrates:  an  affection  wholly  distinct  from  the  infamous 
attachments  that  pn  vailed  among  the  licentious.  The  reader  will 
find  a  full  ai.d  satisfy  ng  account  of  this  generou-passmn  in  Dr.  Hotter* 
Antiquities  of  Ureece,  Hook  iv.  chap.  9.  MOIIS  Uayle  in  his  Dictionary, 
at  the  article  \  irgile,  h.is  at  (Treat  length  •indicated  our  poet  trorn  the 
charge  of  immorality  which  the  .-111106  have  grounded  upon  this  pa*- 

t°Tlie  sccue  of  this  pastoral  is  a  grove  interspersed  with  beech-tree*; 
the  season,  harvest. 


OF  VIUGI1..  267 

Easier  Menalcas'  cold  neglect  to  boar, 

Black  though  he  was,  though  thou  art  blooming  fmirt 

Yet  be  relenting,  nor  too  much  presume, 

0  beauteous  boy,  on  thy  celestial  bloom  ; 
The  sable  violet1  yields  a  precious  die, 

While  useless  on  the  field  the  withering  lilies  li«. 

Ah,  cruel  boy  !  my  love  is  all  in  vain, 

No  thoughts  of  thine  regard  thy  wretched  swain. 

llow  rich  tny  Bock  thou  carcsl  not  to  know, 

Nor  how  my  pails  with  generous  milk  o'erflow. 

With  bleat  of  thousand  lambs  my  hills  resound, 

And  all  the  year  my  milky  stores  abound. 

Not  Amphion's  lays  were  sweeter  than  my  song, 

Those  lays  that  led  the  listening  herds  along ; 

And  if  the  face  be  true  I  lately  view'd, 

Where  calm  and  clear  th'  uncurling  ocean  stood, 

1  lack  not  beauty,  nor  could'st  thou  deny. 
That  even  with  Daphnis  I  might  dare  to  vie. 

O  deign  at  last,  amid  these  lonely  fields, 
To  taste  the  pleasures  which  the  country  yields, 
With  me  to  dwell  in  cottages  resign'd, 
To  roam  the  woods,  to  shoot  the  bounding  hind  ; 
With  me  the  weanling  kids  from  home  to  guide 
To  the  green  mallows  on  the  mountain  side  j 
With  me  in  echoing  groves  the  song  to  raise, 
And  emulate  ev'n  Pan's  celestial  lays. 
Pan  taught  the  joiiited  reed  its  tuneful  strain. 
Pan  guards  the  tender  flock,  and  shepherd  swain. 
Nor  grudge,  Alexis,  that  the  rural  pipe 
So  oft  hath  stain'dthe  roses  of  thy  lip  : 
How  did  Amyntas  strive  thy  skill  to  gain ! 
How  grieve  at  last  to  find  his  labour  vain ! 
Of  seven  unequal  reeds  a  pipe  I  have, 
The  precious  gilt  which  good  Damoetas  gave; 

•  Vaccioium  (here  translated  violeO  yielded  a  purple  colour  wed 
ID  dying  tli'-  garments  of  «Jave*,  according  to  Fun.  I.  xri.  c.  •*. 


i68  THE  PASTORALS 

'  Take  this,'  the  dying  shepherd  said, '  for  none 
Inherits  all  my  skill  but  thou  alone.' 
He  said  ;  Amyntas  murmurs  at  my  praise, 
And  with  an  envious  eye  the  gift  surveys. 
Besides,  as  presents  for  my  soul's  delight 
Two  beauteous  kids  I  keep,  bestreak'd  with  white, 
Nourished  with  care,  nor  purchased  without  pain  j 
An  ewe's  full  udder  twice  a  day  they  drain, 
These  to  obtain  oft  Thestylis  hath  tried 
Each  winning  art,  while  I  her  suit  denied  : 
But  I  at  last  shall  yield  what  she  requests, 
Since  thy  relentless  pride  my  gift*  detests. 

Come,  beauteous  boy,  and  bless  my  rural  bowers, 
For  thee  the  nymphs  collect  the  choicest  flowers  : 
Fair  Nais  culls  amid  the  blooming  dale 
The  drooping  poppy,  and  the  violet  pale, 
To  marygolds  the  hyacinth  applies, 
Shading  the  glossy  with  the  tawny  dies : 
Narcissus'  flower  with  daffodil  entwined, 
And  Cassia's  breathing  sweets  to  these  are  join'd. 
With  every  bloom  that  paints  the  vernal  grove, 
And  all  to  form  a  garland  for  my  love. 
Myself  with  sweetest  fruits  will  crown  thy  feast ; 
The  luscious  peach  shall  gratify  thy  taste. 
And  chesnut  brown  (once  high  in  my  regard, 
For  Amaryllis  this  to  all  preferr'd  ; 
But  if  the  blushing  plum  thy  choice  thou  make, 
The  plum  shall  more  be  valued  for  thy  sake). 
The  myrhe  wreath 'd  with  laurel  shall  exhale 
A  blended  fragrance  to  delight  thy  smell. 

Ah,  Corydon  !  thou  rustic, simple  swain! 
Thyself,  thy  prayers,  thy  offers  all  are  vain. 
How  few,  compared  with  rich  lolas'  store, 
Thy  boasted  gifts,  and  all  thy  wealth  how  poor. 
Wretch  that  I  am !  while  thus  I  pine  forlorn, 
And  all  the  live-long  day  inactive  mourn, 


OF   VlUCJlL.  2tf9 

Hie  boars  have  laid  ray  silver  fountains  waste. 
My  flowers  are  fading  in  the  southern  blast, — 
Fly'st  thou,  ah  foolish  boy,  the  lonesome  grove  T 
Yet  gods  for  this  have  left  the  realm  above. 
Paris  with  scorn  the  pomp  of  Troy  survey'd, 
And  sought  th'  Idasan  bowers  and  peaceful  shade. 
In  her  proud  palaces  let  Pallas  shine ; 
The  lowly  woods  and  rural  life  be  mine. 
The  lioness  all  dreadful  in  her  course 
Pursues  the  wolf,  and  he  with  headlong  force 
Flics  at  the  wanton  goat,  that  loves  to  climb 
The  cliff's  steep  side,  and  crop  the  flowering  thyme , 
Thee  Corydon  pursues,  O  beauteous  boy  : 
Thus  each  is  drawn  along  by  some  peculiar  joy. 

Now  evening  sofi  comes  on  ;  and  homeward  now 
From  field  the  weary  oxen  bear  the  plough. 
The  setting  sun  now  beams  more  mildly  bright, 
The  shadows  lengthening  with  the  level  light, 
While  with  love's  flame  my  restless  bosom  glows. 
For  love  no  interval  of  ease  allows. 
Ah,  Corydon!  to  weak  eomplaints  a  prey! 
What  madness  thus  to  waste  the  fleeting  day! 
Be  roused  at  length ;  thy  half-pruned  vines  demand 
The  needful  culture  of  thy  curbing  hand. 
Haste,  lingering  swain,  the  flexile  willows  weave, 
And  with  thy  wonted  care  thy  wants  relieve. 
Forget  Alexis'  unrelenting  scorn, 
Another  love  thy  passion  will  retum. 


270  THE  PASTORALS 

II!. 

MENALCAS,  DAMCETAS,  PALJEMOM.* 

Mmaloat. 

To  whom  belongs  this  flock,  Damcetas,  pray : 
To  Meliboeus? 

Danurtat. 
No  :  the  other  day 
The  shepherd  JEgcn  gave  it  me  to  keep. 

Menalcas. 

Ah  still  neglected,  still  unhappy  sheep  !f 
He  plies  "Nesera  with  assiduous  love, 
And  fears  lest  she  my  happier  flame  approve  ; 
Meanwhile  this  hireling  wretch  (disgrace  to  swains!) 
Defrauds  his  master,  and  purloins  his  gains, 
Milks  twice  an  hour,  and  drains  the  famish'd  dams, 
Whose  empty  dugs  in  vain  attract  the  lambs. 

Damcetai. 

Forbear,  on  men  such  language  to  bestow. 
Thee,  stain  of  manhood  !  thee,  full  well  I  know. 
I  know,  with  whom — and  where — $  (their  grove  de- 
filed 

The  nymphs  revenged  not,  but  indulgent  smiled) 
Anil  how  the  goats  beheld,  then  browsing  near, 
The  shameful  sight  with  a  lascivious  leer. 

»  The  coiitenilinz  shepherds,  Menalcas  and  Dam<eta*.  together 
with  their  umpire  Palsemon,  are  seated  on  the  erass,  not  far  from  s 
row  of  bt  e<  h-trees.  Flocks  arc  seen  feeding  hard  by.  The  time  of 
the  dav  sreins  to  be  noon,  the  stason  between  ;-pi'ii><*  and  summer. 

1  Throughout  the  whole  of  this  altercation,  notwithstanding  the  un- 
toward -object,  the  reader  will  find  in  the  original  such  a  happy  union 
of  simplicity  Had  for  e  of  expression,  and  harmony  of  verse,  M  it  h 
»ain  lo  look  for  in  an  English  translation. 

;  The  abruptness  and  obscurity  of  the  original  is  here  imitated. 


OF  VIRGIL.  271 

Menalca*. 

No  doubt,  when  Mycon's  tender  trees  I  broke, 
And  gash'd  his  young  vines  with  a  blunted  hook. 

Damcctat. 

Or  when,  conceal'd  behind  this  ancient  row 
Of  beech,  you  broke  young  Daphnis' shafts  and  bow, 
With  sharpest  pangs  of  rancorous  anguish  stung 
To  see  the  gift  conferr'd  on  one  so  young  : 
And  had  you  not  thus  wreak'd  your  sordid  spite, 
Of  very  envy  you  had  died  outright. 

Menalcat. 

Gods !  what  may  masters  dare,  when  such  a  pitch 
Of  impudence  their  thievish  hirelings  reach: 
Did  I  not,  wretch  (deny  it  if  you  dare), 
Did  I  not  see  you  Damon's  goat  ensnare  ? 
Lycisca  bark'd  ;  then  I  the  felon  spied, 
And  '  Whither  slinks  yon  sneaking  thief?'  I  cried. 
The  thief  discover^  straight  his  prey  forsook, 
And  sculk'd  amid  the  sedges  of  the  brook. 

Damoetas. 

That  goat  my  pipe  from  Damon  t'airly  gain'd  , 
A  match  was  set,  and  I  the  prize  obtain'd. 
He  own'd  it  due  to  my  supenor  skill, 
And  yet  refused  his  bargain  to  fulfil. 

Menalcat. 

By  your  superior  skill  the  goat  was  won! 
Have  you  a  jointed  pipe,  indecent  clown  ! 
Whose  whizzing  straws  with  harshest  discord  jarrM, 
As  in  the  streets  your  wretched  rhymes  you  marrM. 

Damoetat. 

Boasts  are  but  vain.     I'm  ready,  when  you  will. 
To  make  a  solemn  trial  of  our  skill. 


272  THE  PASTORALS 

I  stake  this  heifer,  no  ignoble  prize  ; 
Two  calves  from  her  full  udder  she  supplies, 
And  twice  a  day  her  milk  the  pail  o'erflows ; 
What  pledge  of  equal  worth  will  you  expose  T 

Menalcaa. 

Aught  from  the  flock  I  dare  not  risk :  I  fear 
A  cruel  step-dame,  and  a  sire  severe, 
Who  of  their  store  so  strict  a  reckoning  keep, 
That  twice  a  day  they  count  the  kids  and  sheep, 
But  since  you  purpose  to  be  mad  to  day, 
Two  beecb  n  cups  I  scruple  not  to  lay 
(Whose  f  ,-  superior  worth  yourself  will  own). 
The  labc  *r'd  work  of  famed  Alcimedon. 
Raised  round  the  brims  by  the  engraver's  care 
The  flaunting  vine  unfold-s  its  foliage  fair; 
Entwined  the  ivy's  tendrils  seem  to  grow, 
Half-hid  in  leaves  its  mimic  berries  glow  j 
Two  figures  rise  below,  of  curious  frame, 
Conon,  and — what's  that  other  sage's  name, 
Who  with  his  rod  described  the  world's  vast  round, 
Taught  when  to  reap,  and  when  to  till  the  ground  f 
At  home  I  have  reserved  them  unprofaned, 
No  lip  has  e'er  their  glossy  polish  stain'd. 

Damastat. 

Two  cups  for  me  that  skilful  artist  made; 
Their  handles  with  acanthus  are  array'd  ; 
Orpheus  is  in  the  midst,  whose  magic  song 
Leads  in  tumultuous  dance  the  lofty  groves  along. 
At  home  I  have  reserved  them  uuprofaned, 
No  lip  has  e'er  their  glossy  polish  stain'd. 
Bat  my  pledged  heifer  if  aright  you  prize, 
The  cups  so  much  extoll'd  you  will  despise. 
Menalcas, 

These  arts,  proud  boaster,  all  are  lost  OB  me} 
To  any  terms  1  readily  agree. 


OF  VIRGIL.  J73 

You  shall  not  boast  your  victory  to-day, 
Let  him  be  judge  who  passes  first  this  way  : 
And  see  the  good  Palaemou!  trust  me,  swain, 
You'll  be  more  cautious  how  you  brag  again. 

Damatat, 

Delays  I  brook  not  j  if  you  dare,  proceed  ; 
At  singing  no  antagonist  I  dread. 
Palxmon,  listen  to  th'  important  songs, 
To  such  debates  attention  strict  belongs. 

Palaemon. 

Sing  then.    A  couch  the  flowery  herbage  yield*: 
Now  blossom  all  the  trees,  and  all  the  fields ; 
And  all  the  woods  their  pomp  of  foliage  wear. 
And  Nature's  fairest  robe  adorns  the  blooming  year. 
Damcetas  first  th'  alternate  lay  shall  raise  : 
Th'  inspiring  Muses  love  alternate  lays. 

Damatat. 

Jove  first  I  sing  ;  ye  Muses,  aid  my  lay ; 
All  Nature  owns  his  energy  and  sway  ; 
The  Earth  and  Heavens  his  sovereign  bounty  share* 
And  to  iny  verses  he  vouchsafes  his  care.* 
Menalcas. 

With  great  Apollo  I  begin  the  strain, 
For  I  am  great  Apollo's  favourite  swain; 
For  him  the  purple  hyacinth  I  wear, 
And  sacred  bay  to  Phoebus  ever  dear. 

Damcetat. 

The  sprightly  Galatea  at  my  head 
An  apple  Bung,  and  to  the  willows  fled; 
But  as  along  the  level  lawn  she  flew, 
The  wanton  wish'd  not  to  escape  my  view. 

Menalcat. 

I  languish 'd  long  for  fair  Amyntas'charmt, 
But  now  he  comesiunbidden  to  my  arms, 
N  2 


274  THE  PASTORALS 

And  with  my  dogs  is  so  familiar  grown, 
That  my  own  Delia  is  no  better  known. 

Damoetas. 

I  lately  mark'd  where,  'midst  the  verdant  shade. 
Two  parent-doves  had  built  their  leafy  bed  ; 
I  from  the  nest  the  young  will  shortly  take, 
And  to  my  love  a  handsome  present  make. 

Menalcat. 

Ten  ruddy  wildings,  from  a  lofty  bough, 
That  through  the  green  leaves  beam'd  with  yellow 

glow, 

I  brought  away,  and  to  Amyntas  bore ; 
To-morrow  I  shall  send  as  many  more. 

Damoetas. 

Ah  the  keen  raptures  !  when  my  yielding  fair 
Breathed  her  kind  whispers  to  my  ravish'd  ear  ! 
Waft,  gentle  gales,  her  accents  to  the  skies, 
That  gods  themselves  may  hear  with  sweet  surprise 

Menalcat. 

What,  though  I  am  not  wretched  by  your  scoru . 
Say,  beauteous  boy,  say  can  I  cease  to  mourn, 
If,  while  I  hold  the  nets,  the  hoar  you  face, 
And  rashly  brave  the  dangers  of  the  chase  ? 
DamcBtat. 

Send  Phyllis  home,  lolas.,  for  to  day 
I  celebrate  my  birth,  and  all  is  gay  ; 
When  for  my  crop  the  victim  I  prepare, 
lolas  in  our  festival  may  share. 
MenaJcas. 

Phyllis  I  love;  she  more  than  all  can  charm, 
And  mutual  fires  her  gentle  bosom  warm  : 
Tears,  when  I  leave  her,  bathe  her  beauteous  eyes; 
'  A  long,  a  long  adieu,  my  love  "  she  cries. 


OF  VIRGIL.  275 

Damcetas. 

The  wolf  is  dreadful  to  the  woolly  train, 
Fatal  to  harvests  is  the  crushing  rain, 
To  the  green  woods  the  winds  destructive  prove, 
To  ine  the  rage  of  mine  offended  love. 

Menalcas. 

The  willow's  grateful  to  the  pregnant  ewes, 
Showers  to  the  corn,  to  kids  the  mountain-brows  ; 
More  gratefu!  far  to  me  my  lovely  hoy, — 
la  sweet  Amyntas  centres  all  my  joy. 

Damcctat. 

Even  Pollio  deigns  to  hear  my  rural  lays  ; 
And  cheers  the  bashful  Muse  with  generous  praise  : 
Ye  sacred  Nine,  for  your  great  patron  feed 
A  beauteous  heifer  of  the  noblest  breed. 

Menalcai. 

Pollio  the  art  of  heavenly  song  adorns  j 
Then  let  a  bull  be  bred  with  butting  horns, 
And  ample  front,  that  bellowing,  spurns  the  ground. 
Tears  up  the  turf,  and  throws  the  sands  around. 

Damcstat. 

Him  whom  my  Pollio  loves  .nay  naught  annoy} 
May  he  like  Pollio  every  wish  enjoy  ; 
O  may  his  happy  lands  with  honey  flow, 
And  on  his  thorns  Assyrian  roses  blow  ! 

Menalcai. 

Who  hates  not  foolish  Bavius,  let  him  love 
Thee,  Maevius,  and  thy  tasteless  rhymes  approve  I 
Nor  needs  it  thy  admirer's  reason  shock 
To  milk  the  he-goats,  and  the  foxes  yoke. 

Damtztat. 

Ye  boys,  on  garlands  who  employ  your  care, 
And  pull  the  creeping  strawberries,  beware. 


276  THE  PASTORALS 

Fly  for  jour  lives,  and  leave  that  fatal  place, 
A  deadly  snake  lies  lurking  in  the  grass. 

Menalcas, 

Forbear,  my  flocks,  and  warily  proceed, 
Nor  on  that  faithless  bank  securely  tread  ; 
The  heedless  rani  late  plunged  amid  the  pool. 
And  in  the  son  now  dries  his  reeking  wool. 
Damaetas. 

Ho,  Tityrus!  lead  back  the  browsing  flock, 
And  let  them  feed  at  distance  from  the  brook; 
At  bathing  time  I  to  the  shade  will  bring 
My  goats,  and  wash  them  in  the  cooling  spring. 

Sfenalcai. 

Haste,  from  the  sultry  lawn  the  flocks  remove 
To  the  cool  shelter  of  the  shady  grove  : 
When  burning  noon  the  curdling  udder  dries, 
Th'  ungrateful  teats  in  vain  the  shepherd  plies. 

Damaetat. 

How  lean  my  bull  in  yonder  mead  appears, 
Though  the  fat  soil  the  richest  pasture  bears ! 
Ah  Love !  thou  reign'st  supreme  in  every  heart, 
Both  flocks  and  shepherds  languish  with  thy  dart 

Mtnalcat. 

Love  has  net  injured  my  consumptive  flocks. 
Yet  bare  their  bones,  and  faded  are  their  looks  : 
What  envious  eye  hath  squinted  on  my  dams, 
And  sent  its  poison  to  my  tender  lambs  ? 

Damcetas. 

Say  in  what  distant  land  the  eye  descries 
But  three  short  ells  of  all  th' expanded  skiesf 
Tell  this,  and  great  Apollo  be  your  name? 
Your  skill  is  equal,  equal  be  your  fame. 


OF  VIRGIL.  277 

Menalcat. 

Say  in  what  soil  a  wondrous  flower  is  born, 
Whose  leaves  the  sacred  name  of  kings  adorn  t 
Tell  this,  and  take  my  Phyllis  to  your  arms, 
And  reign  th'  unrivall'd  sovereign  of  her  charms. 

Paleemon. 

Tis  not  for  me  these  high  disputes  to  end  ; 
Each  to  the  heifer  justly  may  pretpnd. 
Such  be  their  fortune,  who  so  well  can  sing 
From  love  what  painful  joys,  what  pleasing  torment* 

spring. 

Now,  boys,  obstruct  the  course  of  yonder  rill; 
The  meadows  have  already  drunk  their  fill. 


PASTORAL  IV.» 

Pollio. 

SICILIAN  Muse,  sublimer  strains  inspire, 
And  warm  my  bosom  with  diviner  fire  I 
All  take  not  pleasure  in  the  rural  scene, 
In  lowly  tamarisks,  and  forests  green. 
If  sylvan  themes  we  sing,  then  let  our  lays 
Deserve  a  consul's  ear,  a  c.nusnl's  praise. 

*  In  thi<  fourth  pastoral  no  particular  hndscape  in  delineated.  Tin 
whole  i«  a  prophetic  *nng  of  triumph.  Hut  a»  almost  all  the  inugri 
and  allusion*  arc  of  the  rural  kin. i,  it  is  no  less  a  true  bucolic  than  the 
others;  If  we  admit  the  definition  of  a  pastoral,  given  us  by  an  author 
of  the  first  rank.t  who  CM  Us  it  '  A  poem  in  whi.'li  any  action  or  pa»- 
•iou  is  represented  by  its  effects  upon  co'intry  liiV.' 

It  is  of  Jictle  importance  to  inquire  on  what  occasion  till"  poem  wa« 
written.  The  »pirit  of  prophetic  mthii-ia-in  tint  br<  mhos  through  it, 
and  ihe  rnembl.ince  it  bears  in  ninny  placn.  10  ihc  oriental  manni-r, 
makes  it  m.t  Improbable  that  our  port  conpowil  it  partly  from  some 
pie.-e«  of  ancii  nl  prophecy  that  niuhl  liavi-  l..llen  inio  his  hands,  ana 
that  he  afterwards  inscribed  it  to  his  Ir  end  anil  pali  ••»  I'ollio,  on  occa- 
iion  of  the  bin  li  of  his  ton  Salonnius. 

t  The  author  of  the  Rambler. 


278  THE  PASTORALS 

The  age  comes  on,  that  future  age  of  gold 
In  Ciinia's  mystic  prophecies  foretold. 
The  years  begin  their  mighty  course  again, 
The  Virgin  now  returns,  and  the  Satuvuiau  reign. 
Now  from  the  lofty  mansions  of  the  sky 
To  Karth  descends  an  heaven-born  progeny. 
Thy  Phoebus  reigns,  Lucina,  lend  thine  aid, 
Nor  be  his  birth,  his  glorious  birth,  delay'd! 
An  iron  race  shall  then  no  longer  rage, 
But  all  the  world  regain  the  golden  age. 
Vhis  child,  the  joy  of  nations,  shall  be  born, 
Thy  consulship,  O  Pollio,  to  adorn: 
Thy  consulship  these  happy  times  shall  prove, 
And  see  the  mighty  months  begin  to  move; 
Then  all  our  former  guilt  shall  be  forgiven, 
And  man  shall  dread  no  more  th'  avenging  doom  of 
Heav'n. 

The  son  with  he-roes  and  with  gods  shall  shine, 
And  lead,  enroll'd  with  them,  the  life  divine. 
He  o'er  tho  peaceful  nations  shall  preside, 
And  his  sire's  virtues  shall  his  sceptre  guide. 
To  thee,  auspicious  babe,  th'  unbidden  earth 
Shall  bring  the  earliest  of  her  flowery  birth  : 
Acanthus  soft  in  smiling  beauty  g&y» 
Tha  blossom'd  bean,  and  ivy's  flaunting  spray. 
Th'  untended  goats  shall  to  their  homes  repair, 
And  to  the  milker's  hand  the  loaded  udder  bean 
The  mighty  lion  shall  no  more  be  fear'd, 
But  graze  innoxious  with  the  friendly  herd. 
Sprung  from  thy  cradle  fragrant  flowers  shall  spT 
And,  fanning  bland,  shall  wave  around  thy  head. 
Then  shall  the  serpent  die,  with  all  his  race  : 
No  deadly  herb  the  happy  soil  disgrace  : 
Assyrian  balm  on  every  bush  shall  bloom, 
And  breathe  in  every  gale  its  rich  perfume. 

But  when  thy  father's  deeds  thy  youth  shall  fire, 
And  to  great  actions  all  thy  soul  inspire. 


OF  VIRGIL.  27g 

When  thou  shalt  read  of  heroes  and  of  kings. 
And  mark  the  glory  that  from  virtue  springs; 
Then  boundless  o'er  the  far-extended  plain 
Shall  wave  luxuriant  crops  of  golden  grain, 
With  purple  grapes  the  loaded  thorn  shall  bend, 
And  streaming  honey  from  the  oak  descend. 
Nor  yet  old  fraud  shall  wholly  be  effaced  ; 
Navies  for  wealth  shall  roam  the  watery  waste  j 
Proud  cities  fenced  wifh  towery  walls  appear, 
And  cruel  shares  shall  earth's  soft  bosom  tear : 
Another  Typhys  o'er  the  swelling  tide 
With  steady  skill  the  bounding  ship  shall  guide; 
Another  Argo  with  the  flower  of  Greece 
From  Colchos'  shore  shall  waft  the  golden  fleece ; 
Again  the  world  shall  hear  war's  loud  alarms, 
And  groat  Achilles  shine  again  in  arms. 

When  riper  years  thy  strengthon'd  nerves  shall  brace, 
And  o'er  thy  limbs  diffuse  a  manly  grace, 
The  mariner  no  more  shall  plough  the  deep, 
Nor  load  with  foreign  wares  the  trading  ship  ; 
Each  country  shall  abound  in  cveiy  store, 
Nor  need  the  products  of  another  shore. 
Henceforth  no  plough  shall  cleave  the  fertile  ground, 
No  pruning-hook  the  tender  vine  shall  wound  ; 
The  husbandman,  with  toil  no  longer  broke, 
Shall  loose  his  ox  for  ever  from  the  yoke. 
No  more  the  wool  a  foreign  die  shall  feign, 
But  purple  flocks  shall  graze  the  flowery  plain; 
Glittering  in  native  gold  the  ram  shall  tread, 
And  scarlet  lamhs  shall  wanton  on  the  mead. 

In  concord  join'd  with  fate's  unalter'd  law 
The  Destinies  these  happy  times  foresaw. 
They  bade  the  sacred  spindle  swiftly  run, 
And  hasten  the  auspicious  ages  on. 

O  dear  to  all  thy  kindred  gods  above  ! 
O  thou,  the  offspring  of  eternal  Jove  ! 


•J80  THE    PASTOKALS 

Receive  thy  dignities,  begin  thy  reign, 

And  o'er  the  world  extend  thy  wide  domain. 

See  nature's  mis,hty  frame  exulting  round, 

Ocean,  and  earth,  and  heaven's  immense  profound! 

See  nations  yet  unborn  with  joy  behold 

Thy  glad  approach,  and  hail  the  age  of  gold  ! 

O  would  th' immortals  lend  a  length  of  days. 
And  give  a  soul  sublime  to  sound  thy  praise  ; 
Would  Heaven  thisbreast,  this  labouring  breast  inflame 
With  ardour  equal  to  the  mighty  theme  ; 
Not  Orpheus  with  diviner  transports  glow'd, 
When  all  her  fire  his  mother-muse  bestow'd; 
Nor  loftier  numbers  flow'd  from  Linus'  tongue, 
Although  his  sire  Apollo  gave  the  song; 
Even  Pan,  in  presence  of  Arcadian  swains, 
Would  vainly  strive  to  emulate  my  strains. 

Repay  a  parent's  care,  O  beauteous  boy, 
And  greet  thy  mother  with  a  smile  of  joy  ; 
For  thee,  to  loathing  languors  all  resign'd, 
Ten  slow-revolving  months  thy  mother  pined, 
If  cruel  fate  thy  parent's  bliss  denies,* 
If  no  fond  joy  sits  smiling  in  thine  eyei, 
No  nymph  of  heavenly  birth  shall  crown  thy  love, 
Nor  shall  thou  share  the  immortal  feast  above. 

»  This  passage  has  perplexed  all  the  critics.  Out  of  a. number  of 
lignilications  that  have  been  offered,  the  translator  has  pitclied  upon 
one,  whii-h  he  thinks  the  most  agreeable  to  the  scope  of  the  poem  and 
most  consistent  with  the  language  of  the  original.  The  reader  who 
wants  more  particulars  on  thin  head,  may  consult  Serrlus,  1>«  La 
Cerda,  or  Kiueiu. 


281 


MENAI.CAS,   MOPSDS. 

Menalcas. 

SINCE  you  with  skill  can  touch  the  tuneful  reed, 
Since  few  my  verses  or  my  voice  exceed  j 
In  this  refreshing  shade  shall  we  recline, 
Where  hazels  with  the  lofty  elms  combine  ? 

Mopsut. 

Your  riper  age  a  due  respect  requires, 
Tis  u;ine  to  yield  to  what  my  friend  desires; 
Whether  you  choose  the  zephyr's  fanning  breeze, 
That  shakes  the  wavering  shadows  of  the  trees  ; 
Or  the  deep-shaded  grotto's  cool  retreat : — 
And  see  yon  cave  screen'd  from  the  scorching  heat, 
Where  the  wild  vine  its  curling  tendrils  weaves, 
Whose  grapes  glow  ruddy  through  the  quivering  leaves. 
Menalcat. 

Of  all  the  swains  that  to  our  hills  belong, 
Amyntas  only  vies  with  you  in  song. 
Mopsut. 

What,  though  with  me  that  haughty  shepherd  vie, 
Who  proudly  dares  Apollo's  self  defy  .' 

Menalcas. 

Begin ;  let  Alcon's  praise  inspire  your  strains,! 
Or  Codrus'  death,  or  Phyllis'  amorous  pains; 
Bagin  whatever  theme  your  Muse  prefer. 
To  feed  the  kids  be,  Tityrus,  thy  care. 

*  Here  we  (Uncover  Menalcas  and  Mopsus  »tati<\  in  an  arbour 
formed  by  the  imerwovcn  twig«  of  i.  wild  vine.  A  grove  of  hazels  and 
elms  surrounds  this  arbmir.  The  season  teems  to  be  summer.  The 
time  of  the  d.iy  ii  not  specified. 

t  From  thi*  paaiage  il  i»  evident  that  Virgil  thought  pastoral  poetry 
capable  of  a  much  greater  variety  in  Iti  subject*  than  tome  modern 
eritlo  will  allow. 


282  THE  PASTORALS 

Jfopau. 

I  rather  will  repeat  that  mournful  song, 
Which  late  I  carved  the  verdant  beech  along; 
(I  carved  and  trill'd  by  turns  the  labour'd  lay) 
And  let  Amyntas  match  me  if  he  may. 

Menalcat, 

As  slender  willows  where  the  olive  grows, 
Or  sordid  shrubs  when  near  the  scarlet  rose, 
Such  (if  the  judgment  I  have  form'd  be  true) 
Such  is  Amyntas  when  compared  with  you. 

Mopsuf. 

No  more,  Menalcas  ;  we  delay  too  long, 
The  grot's  dim  shade  invites  my  promised  song. 
When  Daphnis  fell  by  fate's  remorseless  blow* 
The  weeping  nymphs  pour'd  wild  the  plaint  of  woej 
Witness,  O  hazel-grove,  and  winding  stream, 
For  all  your  echoes  caught  the  mournful  theme. 
In  agony  of  grief  his  mother  prest 
The  clay  cold  carcase  to  her  throbbing  breast, 
Frantic,  with  anguish  wail'd  his  hapless  fate, 
Raved  at  the  stars,  and  Heaven's  relentless  hate. 
'Twas  then  the  swains  in  deep  despair  forsook 
Their  pining  flocks,  nor  led  them  to  the  brook  j 
The  pining  flocks  for  him  their  pastures  slight, 
Nor  grassy  plains  nor  cooling  streams  invite. 
The  doleful  tidings  reach'd  the  Libyan  shores, 
And  lions  mourn'd  in  deep  repeated  roars. 
His  cruel  doom  the  woodlands  wild  bewail, 
And  plaintive  hills  repeat  the  melancholy  tain. 

«  It  is  the  mart  general  and  most  probable  conjecture,  that  JulliM 
Cii»;ir  is  thf  l>ap|jnisuh.,«e  death  and  deification  are  here  celebrated. 
Some  however  are  of  opinion,  thai  by  Daphuis  is  meant  a  real  shep- 
herd of  Sicily  ol  that  name,  who  is  s.iid  to  have  invented  bucolic 
poetry,  and  in  honour  of  whom  the  Sicilians  performed  yearly  •*• 
orificet. 


OF  VIRGIL.  283 

'Twas  he,  who  first  Armenia's  tigers  broke. 

And  tamed  their  stubborn  natures  to  the  yoke  j 

He  first  with  ivy  wrapt  the  thyrsus  round, 

And  made  the  hills  with  Bacchus'  rites  resound.* 

As  vines  adorn  the  trees  which  they  entwine, 

As  purple  clusters  beautify  the  vine, 

As  bulls  the  herd,  as  corns  the  fertile  plains, 

The  godlike  Daphnis  dignified  the  swains. 

When  Daphnis  from  our  eager  hopes  was  torn, 

Phoebus  and  Pales  left  the  plains  to  mourn. 

Now  weeds  and  wretched  tares  the  crops  subdue, 

Where  store  of  generous  wheat  but  lately  grew. 

Narcissus'  lovely  flower  no  more  is  seen, 

No  more  the  velvet  violet  decks  the  green  ; 

Thistles  for  these  the  blasted  meadow  yields, 

And  thorns  and  frizzled  burs  deform  the  fields. 

Swains,  shade  the  springs,  and  let  the  ground  be  drest 

With  verdant  leaves ;  'twas  Daphnis'  last  request. 

Erect  a  tomb  in  honour  to  his  name, 

Mark'd  with  this  verse  to  celebrate  his  fame  : 

'  The  swaius  with  Daphnis'  name  this  tomb  adorn, 

Whose  high  renown  above  the  skies  is  borne ; 

Fair  was  his  flock,  he  fairest  on  the  plain, 

The  pride,  the  glory  of  the  sylvan  reign.' 

ifenalcat. 

Sweeter,  O  bard  divine,  thy  numbers  seem 
Than  to  the  scorched  swain  the  cooling  stream. 
Or  soft  on  fragrant  flow'rets  to  recline, 
And  the  tired  limbs  to  balmy  sleep  resign. 
Blest  youth !   whose  voice  and  pipe  demand  the  praise 
Due  but  to  thine,  and  to  thy  master's  lays. 
I  in  return  the  darling  theme  will  choose, 
And  Daphnis'  praises  shall  inspire  my  Muse : 

*  Thin  can  be  applied  only  to  Juliiu  Cesar;  for  It  wai  be  who 
introduced  &t  Rome  the  celebration  of  the  Bacchanalian  roeU.— 
SITVIKJ. 

•  V 


284  THE  PASTORALS 

He  in  my  song  shall  high  as  Heaven  ascend, 
High  as  the  Heavens,  for  Daphnis  was  my  friend. 

Mopsus. 

His  virtues  sure  our  noblest  numhers  claim ; 
Nought  can  delight  me  more  than  such  a  t'heme, 
Which  in  your  song  new  dignity  obtains; 
Oft  has  our  Stimichon  extoll'd  the  strains. 

Menalcas. 

Now  Daphnis  shines,  among  the  gods  a  god, 
Struck  with  the  splendours  of  his  new  abode. 
Beneath  his  footstool  far  remote  appear 
The  clouds  slow  sailing,  aud  the  starry  sphere. 
Hence  lawns  and  groves  with  gladsome  raptures  ring. 
The  swains,  the  nymphs,  and  Pan  in  concert  sing. 
The  wolves  to  murder  are  no  more  inclined, 
No  guileful  nets  ensnare  the  wandering  hind, 
Deceit  and  violence  and  rapine  cease, 
Fo    Daphnis  loves  the  gentle  arts  of  peace. 
From  savage  mountains  shouts  of  transport  rise 
Borne  in  triumphant  echoes  to  the  skies  ; 
The  rocks  and  shrubs  emit  melodious  sounds, 
Through  nature's  vast  extent  the  god,  the  god  rcbonnd». 
Be  gracious  still,  still  present  to  our  prayer  ; 
Four  altars,  lo  !  we  build  with  pious  care, 
Two  for  the  inspiring  god  of  song  divine, 
And  two,  propitious  Daphnis,  s'hall  be  thine. 
Two  bowls  white-foaming  with  their  milky  store. 
Of  generous  oil  two  brimming  goblets  more, 
Kach  year  we  shall  present  before  thy  shrine, 
And  cheer  the  feast  with  liberal  draughts  of  wine ; 
Before  the  fire  when  winter-storms  invade, 
In  summer's  heat  beneath  the  breezy  shade  : 
The  hallow'd  bowls  with  wines  of  Chios  crown'd, 
Shall  pour  their  sparkling  nectar  to  the  ground. 


OF   VIRGIL.  285 

Damoetas  shall  with  Lyctian*  -42gon  play, 

And  celebrate  with  festive  strains  the  day. 

Alphesibcrus  to  the  sprightly  song 

Shall  like  the  dancing  Satyrs  trip  along. 

These  rites  shall  still  be  paid,  so  justly  due, 

Both  when  the  nymphs  receive  our  annual  vow, 

And  when  with  solemn  songs,  and  victims  crown'd, 

Our  lands  in  long  procession  we  surround, 

While  fishes  love  the  streams  and  briny  deep, 

And  savage  boars  the  mountain's  rocky  steep. 

While  grasshoppers  their  dewy  food  delights, 

While  balmy  thyme  the  busy  bee.  invites  ; 

So  long  shall  last  thine  honours  and  thy  fame, 

So  long  the  shepherds  shall  resound  thy  name. 

Such  rites  to  thee  shall  husbandmen  ordain, 

As  Ceres  and  the  god  of  wine  obtain. 

Thou  to  our  prayers  propitiously  inclined 

Thy  grateful  suppliants  to  their  vows  shalt  bind 

Mopau, 

What  boon,  dear  shepherd,  can  your  song  requite  ? 
For  nought  in  nature  yiolds  so  sweet  delight. 
Not  the  soft  sighing  of  the  southern  gale, 
That  faintly  breathes  along  the  flowery  vale  ; 
Nor,  when  light  breezes  curl  the  liquid  plain, 
To  tread  the  margin  of  the  murmuring  main; 
Nor  melody  of  streams,  that  roll  away 
Through  rocky  dales,  delights  me  as  your  lay. 

Menalcat. 

No  mean  reward,  my  friend,  your  verses  claim; 
Take  then  this  flute  that  breathed  the  plaintive  their  e 
Of  Corydon  jt  when  proud  DamoetasJ  tried 
To  match  iny  skill,  it  dash'd  his  hasty  pride. 

*  I.yi'timn  wus  a  city  of  Crete. 
t  Seu  Pastoral  second.  (  See  Pulnril  third. 


286  THE  PASTORALS 

Mopsus. 

And  let  this  sheep-crook  by  my  friend  be  worn, 
Which  brazen  studs  in  beamy  rows  adorn ; 
This  fair  Antigenes  oft  begg'd  to  gain, 
But  all  his  beauty,  all  his  prayers  were  vain. 


PASTORAL  VI.» 

Silentu. 

MY  sportive  Muse  first  sung  Sicilian  strains, 
Nor  blush'd  to  dwell  in  woods  and  lowly  plains. 
To  sing  of  kings  and  wars  when  I  aspire, 
Apollo  checks  my  vainly-rising  fire. 
'To  swains  the  flock  and  sylvan  pipe  belong, 
Then  choose  some  humbler  thp.me,  nor  dareheroic  song/ 
The  voice  divine,  O  Varus,  I  obey, 
And  to  my  reed  shall  chant  a  rural  lay; 
Since  others  long  thy  praises  to  rehearse, 
And  sing  thy  battles  in  immortal  verse. 
Yet  if  these  songs,  which  Phoebus  bids  me  write, 
Hereafter  to  (he  swains  shall  yield  delight, 
Of  thee  the  trees  and  humble  shrubs  shall  sing. 
And  all  the  vocal  grove  with  Varus  ring. 
The  song  inscribed  to  Varus'  sacred  name 
To  Phosbus'  favour  h:  s  the  justest  claim. 

Come  then,  my  Muse,  a  sylvan  song  repeat. 
Twas  in  his  shady  arbour's  cool  retreat 
Two  youthful  swains  the  god  Silenus  found, 
In  drunkenness  and  sleep  his  senses  bound, 
His  turgid  veins  the  late  debauch  betray; 
His  garland  on  the  ground  neglected  lay, 

*  "I'll"  cave  of  Silenus,  which  i«  the  scene  of  this  eclogue,  !•  deline- 
ated with  sufficient  accuracy.  The  time  seems  to  be  the  evening;  at 
least  ihe  song  does  not  cea»e  till  the  flocks  are  folded,  and  the  evening 
itar  appean. 


OF  VIRGIL.  287 

Fallen  from  his  head  :  and  by  the  well-worn  ear 

His  cup  of  ample  size  depended  near. 

Sudden  the  swains  the  sleeping  god  surpiise, 

And  with  his  garland  bind  him  as  he  lies 

(No  better  chain  at  hand),  incensed  so  long 

To  be  defrauded  of  their  promised  song. 

To  aid  their  project,  and  remove  their  fear», 

/Egle,  a  beauteous  fountain  nymph  appears; 

Who,  while  he  hardly  opes  his  heavy  eyes, 

His  stupid  brow  with  bloody  berries  dies. 

Then  smiling  ai  the  fraud  Silenus  said, 

'  And  dare  you  thus  a  sleeping  god  invade  ? 

To  see  me  was  enough  ;  but  haste,  unloose 

My  bonds;  the  song  no  longer  I  refuse; 

Unloose  me,  youths  :  my  song  shall  pay  your  pain*; 

For  this  fair  nymph  another  boon  remains.' 

He  sung;  responsive  to  the  heavenly  sound 
The  stubborn  oaks  and  forests  dance  around, 
Tripping  the  Satyrs  and  the  Fauns  advance, 
Wild  beasts  forget  their  rage,  and  join  the  general  dance. 
Not  so  Parnassus'  listening  rocks  rejoice, 
\Vhen  Photbus  raises  his  celestial  voice  ; 
Nor  Thracia's  echoing  mountains  so  admire, 
When  Orpheus  strikes  the  loud  lamenting  lyre. 

For  first  he  sung  of  Nature's  wond'rous  birth  ; 
How  seeds  of  water,  air,  and  flame,  and  earth, 
Down  the  vast  void  with  casual  impulse  hurl'd, 
Clung  into  shapes,  and  form'd  this  fabric  of  the  world. 
Then  hardens  by  degrees  fhe  tender  soil, 
And  from  the  mighty  mound  the  seas  recoil. 
O'er  the  wide  world  new  various  forms  arise; 
The  infant  Sun  along  the  brighten'd  skies 
Begins  his  course,  while  Earth  with  glad  amaze 
The  blazing  wonder  from  below  surveys. 
The  clouds  sublime  their  genial  moisture  shed, 
And  the  green  grove  lifts  high  its  leafy  head. 


288  THE   PASTORALS 

The  savage  beasts  o'er  desert  mountains  roam, 

Yet  few  their  numbers,  and  unknown  their  home. 

He  next  the  blest  Saturnian  ages  sung; 

How  a  new  race  of  men  from  Pyrrha  sprung:* 

Prometheus'  daring  theft,  and  dreadful  doom. 

Whose  growing  heart  devouring  birds  consume. 

Then  names  the  spring,  renown'd  for  Hylas'  fate, 

By  the  sad  mariners  bewail'd  too  late  ; 

They  call  on  Hylas  with  repeated  cries, 

And  Hylas,  Hylas,  all  the  lonesome  shore  replies. 

Next  he  bewails  Pasiphae  (hapless  dame  !) 

Who  for  a  bullock  felt  a  brutal  flame. 

What  fury  fires  thy  bosom,  frantic  queeu! 

How  happy  thou,  if  herds  had  never  been ! 

The  maids,  whom  Juno,  to  avenge  her  wrong,t 

Like  heifers  doom'd  to  low  the  vales  along, 

Ne'er  felt  the  rage  of  thy  detested  fire, 

Ne'er  were  polluted  with  thy  foul  desire ; 

Though  oft  for  horns  they  felt  their  polish'd  brow. 

And  their  soft  necks  oft  fear'd  the  galling  plough. 

Ah  wretched  queen !  thou  roam'st  the  mountain-waste, 

While,  his  white  limbs  on  lilies  laid  to  rest, 

The  half-digested  herb  again  he  chews, 

Or  some  fair  female  of  the  herd  pursues. 

'  Beset,  ye  Cretan  nymphs,  beset  the  grove, 

And  trace  the  wandering  footsteps  of  my  love. 

Yet  let  my  longing  eyes  my  love  behold, 

Before  some  favourite  beauty  of  the  fold 

Entice  him  with  GortynianJ  herds  to  stray, 

Where  smile  the  vales  in  richer  pasture  gay.' 

He  sung  how  golden  fruit's  resistless  grace 

Decoy'd  the  wary  virgin  from  the  race. j 

•  See  Ovid.  Met.  lib.  i. 

t  Their  names  were  Lysippe,  Ipponue,  and  Cyrianasga.  Juno, to  b* 
avenged  ot  tiit'in  for  preferring  their  own  beauty  to  hers,  struck  them 
with  madness,  to  such  a  degree,  that  they  imagintd  themselves  to  to 
heifers. 

i  Gortyna  wa»  a  city  of  Crete.    See  OvW.  Art.  A-n.  Ub.i 

S  Ataianta.  See  (Mid.  Metamorph.  lib.  X. 


OF  VIRGIL. 

Then  wraps  in  bark  the  mourning  sisters  round,* 

And  rears  the  lofty  alders  from  the  ground. 

He  sung,  while  Gallus  by  Permessust  stray'd, 

A  sister  of  the  Nine  the  hero  led 

To  the  Aonian  hill ;  the  choir  in  haste 

Left  their  bright  thrones,  and  hail'd  the  welcome  guest- 

Linus  arose,  for  sacred  song  renown'd, 

Whose  brow  a  wreath  of  flowers  and  parsley  bound  ; 

And  '  Take/  he  said,  '  this  pipe,  which  heretofore 

The  far  famed  shepherd  of  Ascraea}  bore  ; 

Then  heard  the  mountain-oaks  its  magic  sound, 

Leap'd  from  their  hills,  and  thronging  danced  around. 

On  this  thou  shah  renew  the  tuneful  lay, 

And  grateful  songs  to  thy  Apollo  pay, 

Whose  famed  Grynaean§  temple  from  thy  strain 

Shall  more  exalted  dignity  obtain.' 

Why  should  I  sing  unhappy  Scylla's  fate?|| 

Sad  monument  of  jealous  Circe's  hate  ! 

Round  her  white  breast  what  furious  monsters  roll, 

And  to  the  dashing  waves  incessant  howl : 

How  from  the  ships  that  bore  Ulysses'  crewT 

Her  dogs,  the  trembling  sailors  dragg'd,  and  ilew. 

Of  Philomela's  feast  why  should  I  sing," 

And  what  dire  chance  befel  the  Thracian  king? 

Changed  to  a  lapwing  by  th'  avenging  god, 

He  made  the  barren  waste  his  lone  abode, 

And  oft  on  soaring  pinions  hover'd  o'er 

The  lofty  palace,  then  his  own  no  more. 

The  tuneful  god  renews  each  pleasing  theme 
Which  Phoebus  sung  by  blest  Eurotas'  stream  ; 

•  See  Ovid.  Met.  lib.  II. 

t  A  riter  in  Bosnia,  arising  from  Mount  Helicon,  wcred  (o  tke 
ttate*.  t  I!.  -J...1. 

I  Gnolum  wan  a  maritime  (own  of  the  Lesrer  Asia,  whore  w«w  w 
ancient  temple  and  oracle  of  Apollo. 

||  Ste  Virgil.  A'.n.  iii. 

*  See  Humer  Odyss.  lib.  xii. 

•*  s. «  Ovid.  MeUnu/rpb.  lib.  »i. 

O 


200  THE   PASTORALS 

When  bless'd  Eurotas  gently  ftow'd  along, 
And  hade  his  laurels  learn  the  lofty  song. 
Silenus  sung  ;  the  vocal  vales  reply, 
And  heavenly  music  charms  the  listening  sky. 
But  now  their  folds  the  numher'd  flocks  invite, 
The  »tar  of  evening  sheds  its  trembling  light, 
And  the  unwilling  Heavens  are  wrapt  in  night. 


PASTORAL  VII.« 

MELIB(EUS,   CORYDON,  THYRSI8. 

Melibaeut. 

BENEATH  an  holm  that  nmrmur'd  to  the  breeze 
The  youthful  Daphnis  Irati'd  in  rural  ease: 
With  him  two  gay  Arcadian  swains  reclined, 
Who  in  the  neighbouring  vale  their  flocks  bad  join'd, 
Thyrsis,  whose  care  it  was  tlie  goats  to  keep, 
And  Corydpn,  who  fed  the  fleecy  sheep; 
Both  in  the  flowery  prime  of  youthful  days, 
Both  skili'd  in  single  or  responsive  lays. 
While  I  with  busy  hand  a  shelter  form 
To  guard  my  myrtles  from  the  future  storm, 
The  husband  of  my  goats  had  chanced  to  stray 
To  find  the  vagrant  out  I  take  my  way. 
Which  Daphnis  seeing,  cries,  '  Dismiss  your  fear, 
Your  kids  and  goats  are  all  in  safety  here ; 
And,  if  no  other  care  require  your  stay, 
Come,  and  with  us  unbend  the  toils  of  day 

*  The  scene  of  this  pastoral  is  as  follows:  Four  shepherds,  Dapbnb 
in  the.  mo«t  distinguished  place,  I'ory.lon,  Thyrsi*,  and  Meliboeus,  are 
seen  reclining  beneath  .in  holm.  Slu-pp  ami  goats  intermixed  are 
fteiiiiii:  hinl  iiy.  At  a  litil.  distance  Mmrin,  fringed  with  reed*  ap- 
)'•  ars  winding  alonjr.  rields  and  tiees  compose  the  surrounding 
scene.  A  venerable  oak,  with  bt  es  swarming  around  it,  is  particu- 
larly distinguished.  The  time  teem*  to  be  the  forenoon,  of  a  turn* 
•cr-day. 


OF  VIRGIL.  291 

In  this  cool  shade ;  at  hand  your  heifers  feed, 
And  of  themselves  will  to  the  watering  speed  ; 
Here  fringed  with  reeds  slow  Mincius  winds  along, 
And  round  yon  oak  the  bees  soft-murmuring  throng.' 
What  could  I  do  ?  for  I  was  left  alone, 
My  Phyllis  and  Alcippe  both  were  gone, 
And  none  remain'd  to  feed  my  weaning  lambs. 
And  to  restrain  them  from  their  bleating  dams  : 
Betwixt  the  swains  a  solemn  match  was  set, 
To  prove  their  skill,  and  end  a  long  debate. 
Though  serious  matters  claim'd  my  due  regard, 
Their  pastime  to  my  business  I  preferr'd. 
To  sing  by  turns  the  Muse  inspired  the  swains. 
And  Corydon  began  th'  alternate  strains. 

Corydon. 

Ye  nymphs  of  Helicon,  my  sole  desire! 
O  warm  my  breast  with  aH  my  Codrus'  fire. 
If  none  can  equal  Codrus'  heavenly  lays. 
For  next  to  Phrebus  he  deserves  the  praise, 
No  more  I  ply  the  tuneful  art  divine, 
My  silent  pipe  shall  hang  on  yonder  pine. 

Thyrtit. 

Arcadian  swains,  an  ivy  wreath  bestow, 
With  early  honours  crown  your  poet's  brow  ; 
Codrns  shall  chafe,  if  you  my  songs  commend, 
Till  burning  spite  his  tortured  entrails  rend  ; 
Or  amulets,  to  bind  my  temples,  frame, 
Lest  his  invidious  praises  blast  my  fame. 

Corydon. 

A  Bug's  tall  horns,  and  stain'd  with  savage  goi» 
This  bristled  visage  of  a  tusky  boar, 
To  thee,  O  virgin  goddess  of  the  chase, 
Young  Mycon  offers  for  thy  former  grace. 


292  THE  PASTORALS 

If  like  success  his  future  labours  crown. 
Thine,  goddess,  then  shall  be  a  nobler  boon; 
In  polish'd  marble  thou  shall  shine  complete. 
And  purple  sandals  shall  adorn  thy  feet. 

Thyrsis. 

To  thee,  Priapus,*  each  returning  year, 
This  bowl  of  milk,  these  hallo w'd  cakes  we  beat; 
Thy  care,  our  garden,  is  but  meanly  stored, 
And  mean  oblations  all  we  can  afford. 
But  if  our  flocks  a  numerous  offspring  yield, 
And  our  decaying  fold  again  be  fill'd, 
Though  now  in  marble  thou  obscurely  shine, 
For  thee  a  golden  statue  we  design. 

Corydon. 

O  Galatea,  whiter  than  the  swan. 
Loveliest  of  all  thy  sisters  of  the  main, 
Sweeter  than  Hybla,  more  than  lilies  faifi 
If  aught  of  Corydon  employ  thy  care, 
When  shades  of  night  involve  the  silent  sky, 
And  slumbering  in  their  stalls  the  oxen  lie, 
Come  to  my  longing  arms,  and  let  me  prove 
Th'  immortal  sweets  of  Galatea's  love. 

Thyrsis. 

As  the  vile  sea- weed  scattcr'd  by  the  storm, 
As  he  whose  face  Sardinian  herbs  deform.t 
As  burs  and  brambles  that  disgrace  tlte  plain. 
So  nauseous,  so  detested  he  thy  swain  ; 
If  when  thine  absence  I  am  doom'd  to  bear 
The  day  appears  not  longer  than  a  year. 
Go  home,  my  flocks,  ye  lengthen  out  the  day  j 
For  shame,  ye  tardy  flocks,  for  shame,  away! 


t  It  was  the  properly  <>!  this  poisonous  herb  to  distort  the  fealur 
•f  those  who  had  i  ;iu  i;  of  it  in  sucb  a  manner,  that  the;  EMI  mud  to  e 
pire  ill  ,iu  agon;  of  laughter. 


OF  V1UU1L.  2 

Corydon. 

Ye  mossy  fountains,  warbling  as  ye  Bow  ! 
And  softer  than  the  slumbers  ye  bestow, 
Ye  grassy  banks  !  ye  trees  with  verdure  crown'd, 
Whose  leaves  a  glimmering  shade  diffuse  around  ! 
Grant  to  rny  weary  flocks  a  cool  retreat, 
And  screen  them  from  the  summer's  raging  heat; 
For  now  the  year  in  brightest  glory  shines, 
Now  reddening  clusters  deck  the  bending  vines. 

Thyrrit. 

Here's  wood  for  fuel ;  here  the  fire  displays 
To  all  around  its  animating  blaze  ; 
Black  with  continual  smoke  our  posts  appear; 
Nor  dread  we  more  the  rigour  of  the  year, 
Than  the  fell  wolf  the  fearful  lambkins  dreads, 
When  he  the  helpless  fold  by  night  invades; 
Or  swelling  torrents,  headlong  as  they  roll, 
The  weak  resistance  of  the  shattcr'd  mole. 

Corydon. 

Now  yellow  harvests  wave  on  every  field, 
Now  bending  boughs  the  hoary  chesnut  yield, 
Now  loaded  trees  resign  their  annual  store, 
And  on  the  ground  the  mellow  fruitage  pour ; 
Jocund,  the  face  of  Nature  smiles,  and  gay ; 
But  if  the  fair  Alexis  were  away, 
Inclement  drought  the  hardening  soil  would  drain. 
And  streams  no  longer  murmur  o'er  the  plain. 

Thyrtit. 

A  languid  hue  the  thirsty  fields  assume, 
Parch'd  to  the  root  the  flowers  resign  their  bloom, 
The  faded  vines  refuse  their  hills  to  shade, 
Their  leafy  verdure  wilher'd  and  decay'd  : 
But  if  my  Phyllis  on  these  plains  appear, 
Again  the  groves  their  gayest  green  shall  wear. 
Again  the  clouds  their  copious  moisture  lend, 
And  in  the  genial  rain  shall  Jove  descend. 


294  T1IK  PASTORALS 

Cory don. 

AlcideS*  brows  the  poplar-leaves  surro-ind 
Apollo's  beamy  locks  with  bays  are  crown'd, 
The  myrtle,  lovely  queen  of  smiles,  is  thine, 
And  jolly  Bacchus  loves  the  curling  vine; 
But  while  my  Phyllis  loves  the  hazel-spray, 
To  hazel  yield  the  myrtle  and  the  bay. 
Thyrrit. 

The  fir,  the  hills  ;  the  ash  adorns  the  wood«; 
The  pine,  the  gardens ;  and  the  poplar,  floods. 
If  thou,  my  Lycidas,  wilt  deign  to  come, 
And  cheer  thy  shepherd's  solitary  home. 
The  ash  so  fair  in  woods,  and  garden-pine, 
Will  own  their  beauty  far  excell'd  by  thine. 

JUelibceut. 

So  sung  the  swains,  but  Thyrsis  strove  in  vain; 
Thus  far  I  bear  in  mind  th'  alternate  strain. 
Young  Corydon  acquired  unrivall'd  fame, 
And  still  we  pay  a  deference  to  his  name. 


PASTORAL    VIII.* 

DAMON,  ALPHESIBOJUS. 

REHEARSE  we,  Pollio,  the  enchanting  strains 
Alternate  sung  by  two  contending  swains. 
Charm'd  by  their  songs,  the  hungry  heifers  stood 
In  deep  amaze,  unmindful  of  their  food  ; 
The  listening  lynxes  laid  their  rage  aside, 
The  streams  were  silent,  and  forgot  to  glide. 

•  In  this  eighth  p.istoral  no  particular  scene  is  described.  The  poet 
rehearses  the  songs  of  two  contending  swains,  Damon  and  Alpbc>l> 
txvus.  The  former  adopts  the  soliloquy  of  a  despairing  lover  •  tr  e 
latter  choosi-a  for  I  i<  subject  the  majric  rites  of  an  enchantress  for- 
•uki  u  by  her  lover,  and  recalling:  him  by  the  power  of  her  spells. 


OF  VIBGIL.  295 

O  thou,  where'er  thou  lead'st  thy  conquering  host, 

Or  by  Timavus,*  or  th'  Illyrian  coast ! 

When  shall  my  Muse,  transported  with  the  theme, 

In  strains  sublime  my  Pollio's  deeds  proclaim  ; 

And  celebrate  thy  lays  by  all  admir'd, 

Such  as  of  old  Sophocles'  Muse  inspired  ? 

To  thee,  the  patron  of  my  rural  songs, 

To  thee  my  first,  aiy  latest  lay  belongs. 

Then  let  this  humble  ivy-wreath  enclose, 

'Twined  with  triumphal  bays,  thy  godlike  brows. 

What  time  the  chill  sky  brightens  with  the  dawn, 

When  cattle  love  to  crop  the  dewy  lawn. 

Thus  Damon  to  the  woodlands  wild  complain'd, 

As  'gainst  an  olive's  lofty  trunk  he  lean'd. 

Damon. 

Lead  on  the  genial  day,  O  star  of  morn  ! 
While  wretched  I,  all  hopeless  and  forlorn, 
With  my  last  breath  my  fatal  woes  deplore, 
And  call  the  gods  by  whom  false  Nisa  swore ; 
Though  they,  regardless  of  a  lover's  pain, 
Heard  her  repeated  vows,  and  heard  in  vain. 
Begin,  my  pipe,  the  sweet  Maenalian  strain.* 

Blest  Maeualus !  that  hears  the  pastoral  song 
Still  languishing  its  tuneful  groves  along  ! 
That  hears  th'  Arcadi  ;n  god's  celestial  lay, 
Who  taught  the  idly-rustling  reeds  to  play  ! 
That  hears  the  singing  pines  !  that  hears  the  swain 
Of  love's  soft  chains  melodiously  complain! 
Begin,  my  pipe,  the  sweet  MaRnalian  strain. 

Mopsus  the  willing  Nisa  now  enjoys — 
What  may  not  lovers  hope  from  such  a  choice  ! 

«  A  river  in  Italy. 

t  Till*  Intercalary  line  (as  it  is  called  by  ihe  commentators),  whirh 
•eeros  to  be  inlt  nded  as  a  •  horus  or  burden  to  (lie  song.  Is  hereniade 
the  last  .if  a  triplet,  that  i'  may  be  an  independent  of  (lie  context  i:.d 
the  verse  in  the  translation  as  it  is  in  tho  original.— Mwnalui  uaxa 
mountain  of  Arcadia. 


296  THE  PASTORALS 

Now  mares  and  griffins  shall  their  hate  resign, 

And  the  succeeding  age  shall  see  them  join 

In  friendship's  tie  ;  now  mutual  love  shall  bring 

The  dog  and  doe  to  share  the  friendly  spring. 

Scatter  thy  nuts,  O  Mopsus,  and  prepare 

The  nuptial  torch  to  light  the  wedded  fair. 

Lo,  Hesper  hastens  to  the  western  main. 

And  thine  the  night  of  bliss — thine,  happy  swain! 

Bcsin,  my  pipe,  the  sweet  Maenalian  strain. 

Exult,  O  Nisa,  in  thy  happy  state  ! 
Supremely  blest  in  such  a  worthy  mate  ; 
While  you  my  beard  detest,  and  bushy  brow, 
And  think  the  gods  forget  the  world  below; 
While  you  my  flock  and  rural  pipe  disdain, 
And  treat  with  bitter  scorn  a  faithful  swain, 
Begin,  my  pipe,  the  sweet  Msena'.ian  strain. 

When  first  I  saw  you  by  your  mother's  side, 
To  where  our  apples  grew  I  was  your  guide  ; 
Twelve  summers  since  my  birth  had  roll'd  round, 
And  I  could  reach  the  branches  from  the  ground. 
How  did  I  gaze  ! — how  perish  ' — ah  how  vain 
The  fond  bewitching  hopes  that  sooth'd  my  pain? 
Begin,  my  pipe,  the  sweet  Maenalian  strain. 

Too  \vel'  I  know  thee,  Love.     From  Scythian  snows, 
Or  Lybia's  burning  sands  the  mischief  rose. 
Rocks  adamantine  nursed  this  foreign  bane, 
This  felll  invader  of  the  peaceful  plain. 
Begin,  my  pipe,  the  sweet  Manalian  strain. 

Love  taught  the  mother's*  murdering  hand  to  kill, 
Her  children's  blood  love  bade  the  mother  spill. 
Was  love  the  cruel  cause  ?t  Or  did  the  deed 
From  fierce  unfeeling  cruelty  proceed  ? 

*  Medea. 

t  Tins  teems  to  be  Virgil's  meaning.  The  translator  did  not  chooM 
to  preserve  the  conceit  on  the  words  puer  and  mater  In  Ills  vcr  !"'» : 
at  this  (In  his  opinion)  would  have  rendered  the  patsage  obocure  mu 
•npleating  to  an  English  reader. 


OF  VIRGIL.  297 

Both  rill'd  her  brutal  bosom  with  their  bane; 
Both  urged  the  deed,  while  Nature  shrunk  in  i;am. 
B.^gin,  my  pipe,  the  sweet  Maenalian  strain. 

Now  let  the  fearful  lamb  the  wolf  devour ; 
Let  alders  blossom  with  Narcissus'  flower ; 
Prom  barren  shrubs  let  radiant  amber  flow; 
Let  rugged  oaks  with  golden  fruitage  glow  ; 
Let  shrieking  owls  with  swans  melodious  vie; 
Let  Tityrus  the  Thraciau  numbers  try, 
Out  rival  Orpheus  in  the  sylvan  reign, 
And  emulate  Arion  on  the  main. 
Begin,  my  pipe,  the  sweet  Msenalian  strain. 

Let  land  no  more  the  swelling  waves  divide; 
Earth,  be  thou  whelm'd  beneath  the  boundless  tide  ; 
Headlong  from  yonder  promontory's  brow 
I  plunge  into  the  rolling  deep  below. 
Farewell,  ye  woods!  farewell,  thou  flowery  plain! 
Hear  the  last  lay  of  a  despairing  swain : 
And  cease,  my  pipe,  the  sweet  Majnalian  strain. 

Here  Damon  ceased.     And  now,  ye  tuneful  Nint, 
AlphesiboEus'  magic  verse  subjoin, 
To  his  responsive  song  your  aid  we  call ; 
Our  power  extends  not  equally  to  all. 

Alphenbcenu. 

Bring  living  waters  from  the  silver  stream, 
With  vervain  and  fat  incense  feed  the  flame : 
With  this  soft  wreath  the  sacred  altars  bind, 
To  move  my  cruel  Daphnis  to  be  kind, 
And  with  my  frenzy  to  inflame  his  soul; 
Charms  are  but  wanting  to  complete  the  whole. 
Bring  Daphnis  home,  bring  Daphnis  to  my  arms, 
O  bring  my  long-lost  love,  my  powerful  .charms 

By  powerful  charms  what  prodigies  are  done  . 
Charms  draw  pale  Cynthia  from  her  silver  throne, 
O2 


2<>B  THE  ''ASTORALS 

Charms  hurst  the  bloated  snake,  and  Circe's*  guest* 
By  mighty  magic  charms  were  changed  to  beasts. 
Bring  Daphnis  home,  bring  Daphnis  to  my  arms, 
O  bring  my  long- lost  love,  my  powerful  charms. 

Three  woollen  wreaths,  and  each  of  triple  dye, 
Three  times  about  thy  image  I  apply, 
Then  thrice  I  bear  it  round  the  sacred  shrine; 
Uneven  numbers  please  the  powers  divine. 
Bring  Daphnis  home,  bring  Daphnis  to  my  arms, 
O  bring  my  long-lost  love,  my  powerful  charms. 

Haste, 'let  three  colours  with  three  knots  be  join'd, 
And  say, '  Thy  fetters,  Venus,  thus  1  bind.' 
Bring  Daphnis  home,  bring  Daphnis  to  my  aims, 
O  bring  my  long  lost  love,  my  powerful  charms. 

As  this  soft  clay  is  harden'd  by  the  flame, 
And  as  this  wax  is  soften'd  by  the  same, 
My  love.,  that  harden'd  Daphnis  to  disdain, 
Shall  soften  his  relenting  heart  again. 
Scatter  the  salted  corn,  and  place  the  bays, 
And  with  fat  brimstone  light  the  sacred  blaze. 
Daphnis  uiy  burning  passion  slights  with  scorn, 
And  Daphuis  in  this  blazing  bay  I  burn. 
Bring  Daphnis  home,  bring  Daphnis  to  my  arms, 
O  bring  my  louji-lost  love,  my  powerful  charms 

As  when,  to  ti:>d  her  love,  an  heifer  roams 
Through  trackless  groves,  and  solitary  glooms; 
Sick  with  desire,  abandon'd  to  her  woes, 
By  some  lone  stream  her  languid  limbs  she  throws; 
There  in  deep  anguish  wastes  the  tedious  night, 
Nor  thoughts  of  home  her  late  return  invite; 
Thus  may  lie  love,  and  thus  indulge  his  pain, 
While  I  enhance  his  torments  with  disdain. 
Bring  Daphnis  home,  bring  Daphnis  to  my  arms, 
O  bring  my  long-lost  love,  my  powerful  charms. 

•  See  Horn.  O(ly».  lib.  T. 


OK  \IRGH..  2S«J 

These  robes  beneath  the  threshold  here  I  leave, 
These  pledges  of  his  love,  O  Earth,  receive. 
Ye  dear  Memorials  of  our  mutual  fire, 
Of  you  my  faithless  Daphnis  I  require. 
Bring  Daphnis  home,  bring  Daphnis  to  my  arms, 
O  bring  my  long  lost  love,  my  powerful  charms. 

These  deadly  poisons,  and  these  magic  weeds. 
Selected  from  the  store  which  Pontus  breeds, 
Sage  Mo?ris  gave  me  ;  oft  I  saw  him  prove 
Their  sovereign  power;  by  these  along  the  grove 
A  prowling  wolf  the  dread  magician  roams; 
Now  gliding  ghosts  from  the  profoundest  tombs 
Inspired  he  calls;  the  rooted  corn  he  wings, 
And  to  strange  fields  ti.e  flying  harvest  brings. 
Bring  Daphnis  home,  bring  Daphnis  to  my  arms, 
O  bring  my  long  lost  love,  my  powerful  charms. 

These  ashes  from  the  altar  take  with  speed, 
And  treading  backwards  cast  them  o'er  your  head 
Into  the  running  stream,  nor  turn  your  eye. 
Yet  this  last  spell,  though  hopeless,  let  me  try. 
But  nought  can  move  the  unrelenting  swain, 
And  spells,  and  magic  verse,  and  gods  are  vain. 
Bring  Daphnis  home,  bring  Daphnis  to  my  arms, 
O  bring  my  long  lost  love,  my  powerful  charms. 

Lo,  while  I  linger,  with  spontaneous  fire 
The  ashes  redden,  and  the  flames  aspire ! 
May  this  new  prodigy  auspicious  prove! 
What  fearful  hopes  my  beating  bosom  move  ! 
Hark  !  does  not  Hylax  bark  ? — ye  powers  supreme, 
Can  it  be  real,  or  do  lovers  dream? — 
He  comes,  my  Daphnis  comes  !  forbear  my  charms  j 
My  love,  my  Daphnis  flies  to  bless  my  longing  arm*. 


THE  PASTORALS 


LYC1DAS,  MCERIS. 

Lycidas. 

Go  you  to  town,  my  friend  ?  this  beaten  way 
Conducts  us  thither. 

Maerit. 

Ah!  the  fatal  day, 
The  unexpected  day,  at  last  is  come, 
When  a  rude  alien  drives  us  from  our  home. 
Hence,  hence,  ye  clowns,  th'  usurper  thus  commands, 
To  me  you  must  resign  your  ancient  lands. 
Thus  helpless  and  forlorn  we  yield  to  fate  j 
And  our  rapacious  lord  to  mitigate 
This  brace  of  kids  a  present  I  design, 
Which  load  with  curses,  O  ye  powers  divine  ! 

Lycidas. 

"fwas  said,  Menalcas  with  his  tuneful  strains 
Had  saved  the  grounds  of  all  the  neighbouring  swains, 
From  where  the  hill,  that  terminates  the  vale, 
In  easy  risings  first  begins  to  swell  j 

*  This  and  ttie  first  eclocue  seems  to  have  been  wrilten  on  Ilic  same 
occasion.  The  time  is  a  still  evening  The  land-cape  is  described  at 
lu«97ili  line  of  this  translation.  On  one  side  of  llieldirliway  I*  an  arti- 
ficial arbour,  where  l.ycitlas  invites  Moeris  to  rest  a  little  from  the  fa- 
tigue of  bi^  journey  :  and  at  a  considerable  distance  appears  a  sepul- 
chre  by  the  way  side,  where  the  ancient  sepulchres  were  commonly 
erected. 

The  critics  with  one  voice  seem  to  condemn  this  eclogue  as  unwor- 
thy of  its  author  ;  I  know  not  for  what  irood  reason.  The  many  beau- 
tiful lines  scattered  through  it  would,  one  might  think,  be  no  weak  re- 
commendation. But  it  is  by  no  means  to  be  reckoned  a  loose  collec- 
tion of  incoherent  fragments;  its  principal  pans  are  all  strictly  con- 
nected, and  refer  to  a  certain  end,  and  its  allusions  and  images  are 
wholly  suited  to  pastoral  life.  Its  subject,  though  uncommon,  is  not 
improper,  for  what  is  more  natural,  than  that  two  shepherds,  when 
occasionally  mentioning  the  good  qualities  of  their  absent  friend,  par- 
ticularly his  poetical  talents,  should  repeat  such  fragment!  of  his  soug« 
as  they  recollected. 


OF  VIRGIL.  30' 

Far  as  the  blasted  beech  that  mates  the  sky, 
And  the  clear  stream  that  gently  murmurs  by. 

Maerii. 

Such  was  the  voice  of  fame  ;  bnt  music's  charms,, 
Amid  the  dreadful  clang  of  warlike  arms, 
Avail  no  more  than  the  Chaonian  dove, 
When  down  the  sky  descends  the  bird  of  Jove. 
And  had  not  the  prophetic  raven  spoke 
His  dire  presages  from  the  hollow  oak, 
And  often  warn'd  me  to  avoid  debate, 
And  with  a  patient  mind  submit  to  fate, 
Ne'er  had  thy  Moeris  seen  this  fatal  hour, 
And  that  melodious  swain  had  been  no  more. 

Lycidat. 

What  horrid  breast  such  impious  thoughts  could 

breed ! 

What  barbarous  hand  could  make  Menalcas  bleed! 
Could  every  tender  Muse  in  him  destioy, 
And  from  the  shepherd's  ravish  all  their  joy! 
For  who  but  he  the  lovely  nymphs  could  sing, 
Or  paint  the  valleys  with  the  purple  spring  ? 
Who  shade  (he  fountains  from  the  glare  of  day? 
Who  but  Menalcas  could  compose  the  lay, 
Which,  as  wejourney'd  to  my  love's  abode, 
I  softly  sung  to  cheer  the  lonely  road? 
'Tityrus,  while  I  am  absent,  feed  the  flock," 
And,  having  fed,  conduct  them  to  the  brook 
(The  way  is  short,  and  I  shall  soon  return), 
But  shun  the  he-goat  with  the  butting  horn-' 

•  These  linen,  which  Virgil  hu  translated  literally  from  I  h«-o«riii«, 
may  be  *<i|>pn««d  to  lie  .1  fragment  or  Hie  poem  mentioned  in  the  pre- 
ceding vcr»i»;  ur,  uli.it  i«  won:  hkrly,  i»  be  spoken  In  Lyci.las  In  hit 
•ervjni;  soim  thin?  »iuiiUr  to  which'  may  be  wen  l'.,i'.  5,  r  30.  of 
this  tranviation.— The  origin*!  >»  '"'re  remarkably  explicit  errn  to  ft 
degree  of  affectation.  Thu  tin-  translator  ban  cnJea»our<.d  to  imitate 


302  THE  PASTORALS 

Masrit. 

Or  who  could  finish  the  imperfect  lays 
Sung  by  Menalcas  to  his  Varus'  praise? 
*  If  fortune  yet  shall  spare  the  Mantuan  swains, 
And  save  from  plundering  hands  our  peaceful  plaint, 
Nor  doom  us  sad  Cremona's  fate  to  share 
(For  ah  !  a  neighbour's  woe  excites  our  fear), 
Then  high  as  Heaven  our  Varus"  fame  shall  rise, 
The  warbling  swans  shall  bear  it  to  the  skies.' 
Lycidas. 

Go  on,  dear  swain,  these  pleasing  songs  pursue  ; 
So  may  thy  bees  avoid  the  bitter  yew, 
So  may  rich  herds  thy  fruitful  fields  adorn, 
So  may  thy  cows  with  strutting  dugs  return. 
Even  I  with  poets  have  obtain'd  a  name, 
The  Muse  inspires  me  with  poetic  flame ; 
Th'  applauding  shepherds  to  my  songs  attend, 
But  I  suspect  my  skill,  though  they  commend. 
I  dare  not  hope  to  please  a  Cinna's  ear, 
Or  sing  what  Varus  might  vouchsafe  to  hear. 
Harsh  are  the  sweetest  lays  that  I  can  bring, 
So  screams  a  goose  where  swans  melodious  sing. 

Maeris. 

This  I  am  pondering,  if  I  can  rehearse 
The  lofty  numbers  of  that  labour'd  verse 
'  Come,  Galatea   leave  the  rolling  seas  ; 
Can  nigged  rocks  and  heaving  surges  please? 
Come,  taste  the  pleasures  of  our  sylvan  bowers, 
Our  balmy-breathing  gales  and  fragrant  flowers. 
See,  how  our  plains  rejoice  on  every  side, 
How  crystal  streams  through  blooming  valleys  glide: 
O'er  the  cool  trot  the  whitening  poplars  bend, 
And  clasping  vines  their  grateful  umbrage  lend, 
Come,  beauteous  nymph,  forsake  the  briny  wave; 
Loud  on  the  beach  let  the  wild  billows  rave.' 


Ob'  YIKUIL.  303 

Lycidat. 

Or  what  you  sung  one  evening  on  the  plain — 
The  air  but  not  the  words,  I  yet  retain. 

Maerit. 

'  Why,  Daphnis,  durst  thott  calculate  the  skies, 
To  know  when  ancient  constellations  riset 
Lo,  Caesar's  star  its  radiant  light  displays, 
And  on  the  nations  sheds  propitious  rays. 
On  the  glad  hills  the  reddening  clusters  glow, 
And  smiling  plenty  decks  the  plains  below. 
Now  graff  thy  pears ;  the  star  of  Caesar  reigns, 
To  thy  remotest  race  the  fruit  remains.' 
The  rest  I  have  forgot,  for  length  of  years 
Deadens  the  sense,  and  memory  impairs. 
All  things  in  time  submit  to  sad  decay  ; 
Oft  have  we  sung  whole  summer  suns  away. 
These  vanish 'd  joys  must  Moeris  now  deplore, 
His  voice  delights,  his  numbers  charm  no  more; 
Him  have  the  wolves  beheld,  bewitch'd  his  song,* 
Bewitch'd  to  silence  his  melodious  tongue. 
But  your  desire  Menalcas  can  fulfil, 
All  these,  and  more,  he  sings  with  matchless  skill. 

Lycidat. 

These  faint  excuses  which  my  Meeris  frames 
But  heighten  my  desire. — And  now  the  streams 
In  slumber-soothing  murmurs  softly  flow  ; 
And  now  the  sighing  breeze  hath  ceased  to  blow. 
Half  of  our  way  is  past,  for  1  descry 
Bianor's  tomb  just  rising  to  the  eye.t 
Here  in  this  leafy  arbour  ease  your  toil, 
Lay  down  your  kids,  and  let  us  sing  the  while : 

•  la  lt»M»  creclilur  lapornm  vlsm  e*»e  no\i.«;  vocemque  horalol 
quern    priore*  contcmpleiilur  a. linn-re    ad    i>nwan«.— Pint.    H.    H 

t  BUnor  if  (aid  to  hare  rounded  Mantua.— Servi-a. 


304 


THE  I'ASTOlllLS 


We  soon  shall  reach  the  town;  or,  lest  a  storm 
Of  sudden  rain  the  evening  sky  deform, 
lie  yours  to  cheer  the  journey  with  a  song, 
Kase<l  of  your  load,  which  I  shall  bear  along. 

Morris. 

No  more,  my  friend;  your  kind  entreaties  span, 
And  let  our  journey  be  our  present  care  ; 
Let  fate  restore  our  absent  friend  again, 
Then  gladly  I  resume  the  tuueful  strain. 


PASTORAL  X.» 


To  tny  last  labour  lend  thy  sacred  aid, 
O  Arethusa;  that  the  cruel  maid 
With  deep  remorse  may  read  the  mournful  song, 
For  mournful  lays  to  Gallus'  love  belong. 
(What  Muso  in  sympathy  will  not  bestow 
Some  tender  strains  to  soothe  my  Callus'  woe?) 
So  may  thy  waters  pure  of  briny  stain 
Traverse  the  waves  of  the  Sicilian  main. 
Sing,  mournful  Muse,  of  Gallus'  luckless  love, 
While  the  goats  browse  along  the  cliffs  above. 

»  The  scene  of  this  pistoral  is  vi'ry  accurately  delineated.    We  be- 
l.old  the  forlorn   Gallu-  stretched  aloiiff  bcueaih  a  solita  y  cliff,  hi; 


,...eks •gtaiidinir  round  him,  .it  sonic  distance.    A  ftroup  of  leir 
•  wains  encircle  him,  each  of  whom  is  particularly  de-crihed.    O 


il'lt' 


of  the 


the  neat- 


licrds,  knn«n  ''V  U'eclumsin.  nsof  their  nppe.irauce;  and  n 
M.-naleas  with  his  clothes  w.  t,as  just  come  from  hcatini-o 
winicr-m  >t.  <)"  the  oilivr  side  ue  ohserve  Apollo  with  u 
kl  rni;i  •  Sylv.inus  crowned  with  llowers,  and  hraiMlisliui^  i  his  hand 
tl.e  Ion?  hli»s  and  flowering  fennel ;  and  last  of  all  Pan,  the  god  of 
shepherds,  known  by  his  ruddy  smiling  countenance,  and  the  other 
I>ecilliarltie<  of  his  form. 

Uallus  was  a  Roman  of  very  considerable  rank,  a  pi.et  of  no  small 
e-lim.itiou,  aud  an  iutimati-  friend  of  Virgil.  He  loved  to  distraction 
one  CylhcrU  (here  called  Lycoris),  who  •lighted  him,  and  followed 
Auiony  iulo  Gaul. 


1  to  these 
ciuhering 


ot  ViKlilL. 


Nor  silent  is  the  waste  while  we  complain, 
The  woods  return  the  long  resounding  strain. 

Whither,  ye  fountain-nymphs,  were  ye  withdrawn, 
To  what  lone  woodland,  or  what  devious  lawn, 
When  Gallns'  bosom  languish '<i  with  the  fire 
Of  hopeless  love,  and  unallay'd  de.sire  ? 
For  neither  by  th'  Aonian  spring  you  stray'd,     [shade. 
Nor  roam'd    Parnassus' heights,  nor  Pindus'  hallow 'd 
The  pines  of  Mznalus  were  heard  to  mourn, 
And  sounds  of  woe  along  the  groves  were  borne; 
And  sympathetic  tears  the  laurel  shed, 
And  humbler  shrubs  declined  their  drooping  head. 
All  wept  his  fate,  when  to  despair  resign'd 
Beneath  a  desert  cliff  he  lay  reclined. 
Lyceus'  rocks  were  hung  with  many  a  tear, 
And  round  the  swain  his  flocks  forlorn  appear. 
Nor  scorn,  celestial  bard,  a  poet's  name; 
Renov.-n'd  Adonis  by  the  lonely  stream 
Tended  his  flock. —  As  thus  he  lay  along. 
The  swains  and  awkward  neatherds  round  him  throng. 
Wet  from  the  winter  mast  Menalcas  came 
All  ask,  what  oeauty  raised  the  fatal  flame. 
The  god  of  verse  vouchsafed  to  join  the  rest ; 
He  said,  *  What  frenzy  thus  torments  thy  breast  T 
While  sl>e,  thy  darling,  thy  Lycoris,  scorns 
Thy  proffer'd  love,  and  for  another  burns, 
With  whom  o'er  winter  wastes  she  wanders  far, 
'Midst  camps,  and  clashing  arms,  and  boisterous  war.' 
Sylvanus  came,  with  rural  garlands  crown'd, 
And  waved  the  lilies  long,  and  flowering  fennel  round. 
Kexi  we  beheld  the  gay  Arcadian  god  ; 
His  smiling  cheeks  with  bright  vermilion  glow'd. 
'  For  ever  wilt  ihou  heave  the  bursting  sigh  ? 
Is  love  regardful  of  the  weeping  eye  ? 
Love  is  not  cloy'd  with  tears  ;  alas  !  no  more 
Than  bees  luxurious  with  the  balmy  flower, 


306  THE  PASTORALS 

Than  goats  with  foliage,  than  the  grassy  plain 

With  silver  rills  and  soft  refreshing  rain.' 

Pan  spoke;  and  thus  the  youth,  with  grief  opprest; 

'  Arcadians !  here,  O  hear  my  last  request ; 

O  ye,  to  whom  the  sweetest  lays  belong, 

O  let  my  sorrows  on  your  hills  be  sung : 

If  your  soft  flutes  shall  celebrate  my  woes, 

How  will  my  bones  in  deepest  peace  repose! 

Ah,  had  I  been  with  you  a  country- swain, 

And  pruned  the  vine,  and  fed  the  bleating  train  j 

Had  Phyllis,  or  some  other  rural  fair, 

Or  black  Amyntas  been  my  darling  care  ; 

(Beauteous,  though  black  ;  what  lovelier  flower  ik  seen 

Than  the  dark  violet  on  the  painted  green  ?) 

These  in  the  bower  had  yielded  all  their  charms, 

And  sunk  with  mutual  raptures  in  my  arms  : 

Phyllis  had  crown'd  my  head  with  garlands  gay, 

Amyntas  sung  the  pleasing  hours  away. 

Here,  O  Lycoris,  purls  the  limpid  spring, 

Bloom  all  the  meads,  and  all  the  woodlands  sing  ; 

Here  let  me  press  thee  to  my  panting  breast, 

Till  youth,  and  joy,  and  life  itself  be  past. 

BanishM  by  love,  o'er  hostile  lands  I  stray, 

And  mingle  in  the  battle's  dread  array  ; 

Whilst  thou,  relentless  to  my  constant  fianje, 

(Ah  could  I  disbelieve  the  voice  of  fame!) 

Far  from  thy  home,  unaided  and  forlorn, 

Far  from  thy  love,  thy  faithful  love,  art  borne, 

On  the  bleak  Alps  with  chilling  blasts  to  pine, 

Or  wander  waste  along  the  frozen  Rhine. 

Ye  icy  paths,  O  spare  her  tender  form! 

0  spare  those  heavenly  charms,  thou  wintry  storm t 
•  Hence  let  me  hasten  to  some  desert-grove, 

And  soothe  with  songs  my  long-unauswer'd  love. 

1  go,  in  some  lone  wilderness  to  suit 
Kubmaii  lays  to  my  Sicilian  flute. 


OF  VIRGIL.  307 

Better  with  beasts  of  prey  to  make  abode 
In  the  deep  cavern,  or  the  darksome  wood  ; 
And  carve  on  trees  the  story  of  my  woe, 
Which  with  the  growing  bark  shall  ever  grow. 
Meanwhile,  with  woodland-nymphs,  a  lovely  throng, 
The  winding  groves  of  Maenalus  along 
I  roam  at  large  ;  or  chase  the  foaming  boar ; 
Or  with  sagacious  hounds  the  wilds  explore, 
Careless  of  cold.     And  now  met h inks  I  bound 
O'er  rocks  and  cliffs,  and  hear  the  woods  resound  j 
And  now  with  beating  heart  I  seem  to  wing 
The  Cretan  arrow  from  the  Parthian  string — 
As  if  I  thus  my  frenzy  could  forego, 
As  if  love's  god  could  melt  at  human  woe. 
Alas  !  nor  nymphs  nor  heavenly  songs  delight- 
Farewell,  ye  groves  !  the  groves  no  more  invite. 
No  pains,  no  miseries  of  man  can  move 
The  unrelenting  deitv  of  love. 
To  quench  your  tnirst  iz.  iJjLrus'  frozen  flood. 
To  make  the  Scythian  snows  your  drear  abode  j 
Or  feed  your  flock  on  Ethiopian  plains, 
When  Sirius'  fiery  constellation  reigns, 
(When  deep-imbrown'd  the  languid  herbage  lie* 
And  in  the  elm  the  vivid  verdure  dies,) 
Were  all  in  vain.     Love's  unresisted  sway 
Extends  to  all,  and  we  must  Love  obey.' 

"I'is  done  ;  ye  Nine,  here  ends  your  poet's  strain. 
In  pity  sung  to  soothe  his  Gall  us'  pain. 
While.  leaning  on  a  flowery  bank  I  twine 
The  flexile  osiers,  and  the  basket  join. 
Celestial  Nine,  your  sacred  influence  bring, 
And  soothe  my  Gall  us'  sorrows  while  I  sing: 
Gall  us,  my  much  beloved!  for  whom  I  feel 
The  flame  of  purest  friendship  rising  still : 
So  by  a  brook  the  verdant  alders  rise, 
When  fostering  zephyrs  fan  the  vernal  »kie». 


906          THE  PASTORALS  OF  VIRGIL. 

Let  us  be  gone  :  at  eve,  the  shade  annoys 
With  noxious  damps,  and  hurts  the  singer's  voice; 
The  juniper  breathes  bitter  vapours  round, 
That  kill  the  springing  corn,  and  blast  the  ground. 
Homeward,  my  sated  goats,  now  let  us  hie  , 
To  beamy  Hesper  gilds  the  western  iJKy. 


A     000  024  902     9 


